Battle of the Bands
by SuperWhoLockHiddles
Summary: I've decided to rewrite this story because it's like my baby (don't worry nothing has changed much). I've also decided that I don't really give a fuck about possibly getting trouble for this (WHICH I FUCKING WON'T) because I have, like, 6 other sites where this is posted. I'm sorry to those amazing people who had to wait so long for chapters, but wait no longer: I'm updating ASAP.
1. Famous Last Words

Battle of the Bands—Famous Last Words

I sighed as I stepped into my room. Well, it wasn't exactly _my _room—it was actually my brother's. Mikey was fifteen when it happened; he had been coming down the street from a friend who lived a few blocks away. It wasn't too dark outside, and my parents always trusted us to be home on time, so they always let us walk alone. Even in the oh-so-trustworthy state of New Jersey.

Anyways, he was just walking down the street a bit later than usual, when this bright light flashed in his eyes. He put up his hand in front of his face to try and see what was happening; apparently nobody looked where they were driving, especially when they were drunk.

I found him on the street maybe three minutes after the accident. Mikey was lying in the middle of the dark street all by himself. I just remembered running. I didn't even breathe, I just ran. He wasn't dead when I got to him, but he was bad. He looked up at me; his glasses were broken and crooked on his face. I pulled them off carefully and knelt down beside him, holding his head in my lap, and just cried.

He told me what happened. Actually he choked on the words as he said them, but I got the gist of what he was saying. I pulled out my cell phone and dialed 911. My fingers shook the entire time.

The ambulance came about fifteen minutes later—that's fourteen minutes to slow, in my opinion—and took him away. His pulse was weak and he'd been lying in a pool of his own blood. His arms and legs were twisted at odd angles and he had cuts and bruises everywhere. I begged to go with them, because I was the only family member he had. Our parents were out of town that weekend and I was supposed to be babysitting him.

I was supposed to be protecting him.

But I'd failed.

That's beside the point. I begged and pleaded (or screamed and cried) and after awhile they let me come, reluctantly. I sat in the E.R. still in the bloody dirty clothes I'd found Mikey in. I hadn't even bothered to wash my face or my hands. I couldn't bring myself to go to the bathroom and look in the mirror.

I cried. That's all I really remembered from that night aside from the conversation, but I'll get to that later.

Me.

Crying.

I never cried.

The hospital had called our parents, and they said that they would be home as soon as possible, but that in the meantime I had to stay with Mikey because they wouldn't be home for at least 24 hours—they'd taken some weird vacation to Canada or Alaska or something. I didn't protest to my parents wishes. I would have stayed even if they told me otherwise. They would have had to drag me out kicking and screaming before I let my brother alone.

It was one in the morning now (that's about five hours after the accident), and I was restless. I kept asking if I could see him, "Please! _Please_! Just let me see him! Tell me if he's okay! _Tell me_!" Nobody told me anything.

At one thirty a doctor came out with a grave look on his face. _I knew it_. I just knew Mikey was dead. He didn't even say anything, he just looked at me with a curious expression. I remember this part well. This is the conversation.

"Are you Gerard?"

"Yes!" I answered all too quickly.

"Michael has experienced a direct hit from what we could only conclude to be a car. He suffered multiple bone fractures, contusions, and internal damage." The doctor was about to say more but I couldn't let him; I had to know everything.

"…What did he break?" I asked in a small voice.

The doctor seemed taken aback, but told me nonetheless. "Well, his left arm and leg, in various places. He cracked his pelvic bone but didn't shatter it, luckily. Five, maybe six ribs, and his skull was nearly cracked in half." I put a hand up to stop him from talking; I'd had enough of those details. They were making me sick.

"You mentioned internal damage?" I winced as I said the words.

"Yes, his stomach was punctured, but that was quickly treated with minimal long-term damage. Also many muscles were torn, but those can be rebuilt in time; athletes tear muscles and ligaments all the time." He was beating around the bush, I could tell.

"Just tell me."

"His brain was badly damaged. I'm afraid that Michael is in a coma, and may never wake up again." That's when I threw up. I fell to my knees, and threw up. The rest was a blur; doctors and nurses rushing to help me, they picked me up and put me in a bed in Mikey's room. They kept asking me if I was okay.

They should have been doing something to save my brother! He could die! He looked so small and pale. So fragile and innocent. It tore at my heart to know some asshole with a Grand AM and a bottle of Greygoose could take away one of the most important things in my life in a matter of seconds.

I wasn't there for him!

"_I should have been there for him_!" I screamed at my parents when they'd arrived and tried to comfort me. I blamed myself. I still blame myself, every goddamned day.

That was one year ago. We'd decided that we'd give Mikey seven years on life support before pulling the plug. I begged them not to; my parents said five years and I said ten. We compromised, I guess.

Back to the present.

I threw my bag down on the floor and flopped down onto his bed, looking up to the ceiling, watching the fan turn. I'd just gotten out from school, and decided to stop home before heading to the hospital. I'd been going three times a week, and I stayed overnight every time. I went on Monday's, Thursday's, and Friday's.

I would have gone on Saturday but my parents reserved that day for "Gerard time", and told me I had to do something creative; something productive that would get my mind off of Mikey. Nothing ever worked. I also would have gone on Sunday's but they didn't allow visitors, no matter how long I waited outside the door, they wouldn't let me in.

"Gerard," I heard a soft voice say. My mom was standing outside the door, but she never barged in. She knew I liked my privacy—she encouraged it.

"Yeah," I sighed, letting her know she could come in. She gently pushed the door open and looked at me with a small sad smile. I didn't even glance at her. I just stared at the ceiling. The fan's so damn fascinating.

"Going to see Mike?" She asked.

"Of course."

"Can you come home tonight? I know it's safe in the hospital, but I don't think it's safe for your mind if you're just sitting there all night by yourself."

"Mom," I said, my voice edgy. I sat up and narrowed my eyes at her.

"Gerard, really? What are you afraid of?" I could hear the desperation in her voice.

"I am not afraid to walk this world alone, mom." I stood up, my height of five feet eleven inches trumping her five feet five. She knew what I was saying. I was saying that I wasn't afraid to wander down this path of sadness over my brother. My _only _brother.

My voice was abrasive; I was just mad, "Is it hard understanding I get so weak?" Then I looked her in the eyes and saw she was crying. My voice softened, "It's a love that's so demanding. I just get weak."

"Honey," she said, her voice taking a defeated tone, "if you stay, he'll be forgiving." I wanted to scream at her. No! He wouldn't be forgiving! I left him all alone and look where it got him? I can't do that again. I have to be there. But she just looked so sad. I picked my bag off the floor, and headed for the door.

I looked back at her and gave her the same small smile she'd given me, "Nothing you can say will stop me going home."

And I was going home. Mikey was my home now. Wherever he was, that's where I was.


	2. Half Alive

Battle of the Bands—Half Alive

Whenever I walked into the hospital, I was greeted by every person I walked past. The staff knew me, the long-term patients knew me, random strangers who I'd only seen once knew me. They all called me "Sad Case" or "Hopeless" when I wasn't around.

Apparently some people didn't bother to learn my real name, because I'd heard, "Hey, Hopeless, how are you?" when I was walking down the hallway a few weeks ago. I knew they called me that often because one of the patients I'd talked to told me. Then he told me that he just called me "Gerard".

As I stood on the elevator up to the coma ward I sighed and banged my head against the wall. I'd, once again, replayed this scene over and over but I couldn't seem to understand how I made the decision to let Mikey go all by himself to a friend's house.

I got off at his floor and slowly made my way to his room; the third on the left. I heard the faint sound of a guitar, and a soft sweet voice coming from behind his closed door. "_It's four AM, I'm waking up to your perfume._" I put my hand on the knob and turned it as quietly as I could, still listening to the sadly sweet voice.

"_Don't get up I'll get through on my own; I don't know if I'm home or if I lost my way into your room, I'm spiraling into my doom._" I slipped into the room, and silently closed the door. Mikey looked the same, but someone was sitting beside his bed with their back to me, holding a guitar in their lap. The hand that was playing the guitar was hooked up to an IV that dripped so slowly that I thought I could see it.

"_I'll get through this tonight, but one day you and I will be free to live and die by our own rules. Free. Despite the fact that men are fools._" The meaning of his words hit my heart like a ton of bricks. This was the guy who called me, "Gerard".

This was the first person in this hospital who I'd seen regularly. He seemed to be here as much as I was, except he was sick. When I first saw him I automatically knew he could relate to me. He was different, just like me. It made me mad to think that this kid, who probably had some weird disease, had a better attitude than I did. And I was the one who was perfectly healthy.

As his voice reached what I suspected to be the chorus of the song, I started to cry. I don't know how this kid could make me cry just with the sound of his voice—especially considering how the last time I cried, it was over my brother who had almost died.

"_I'm almost alive, and I need you to try and save me. It's okay that we're dying, but I need you to try tonight, tonight_."

That should have been _me_ lying in that bed. That should have been me comforting some random patient who I'd never seen in my life. These people lost everything before they came here—dignity, health, beauty, friends, happiness… And what about me? I never had those things to begin with. It just wasn't fair.

I must have sobbed out loud because suddenly the music stopped. The boy in the chair turned slightly and looked at me. His scared expression melted into a small smile—almost like he was remembering someone who'd left his life a long time ago.

"Hey." His voice was so casual that it killed me.

"Sorry," I said sheepishly, wiping my nose on the back of my sleeve.

"Don't worry 'bout it." Now his face broke into a wide grin, and he gestured to Mikey, "We were just catching up." It should have made me mad that he was joking about my brother in a coma, but somehow this kid was different; like he could joke about it because he knew how it felt.

"I've heard that song before," I told him, standing up. "Secondhand Serenade? Not a band I thought you'd listen to." I shifted my weight awkwardly from my left foot to my right. The kid got up out of the chair, holding his guitar loosely in his hand.

"Guilty pleasure, I guess," he shrugged. "I thought it fit us, you know?"

I didn't know what to say. I could have said 'It did.' But that might sound insensitive. I also could have gone with something along the lines of, 'You should play it again.' But that also didn't seem right, so I settled for the next best thing.

"Is that a new tattoo?" I noticed the green skin that was poking out from his shirt.

A subject change.

"Oh," he said, "yeah! I just got it yesterday! Of course, I was advised against it because it was 'bad for my health'," he added air quotes, but only with one hand because the other was occupied.

"You never told me," I hesitated. "What are you—" He held up a hand to stop me.

"I never told you what I was sick with because I hate pity parties. Though, you don't seem like the kinda guy to do that." His tone was resentful, but oddly enough he had a smile on his face. It was almost cynical.

"Can I see it?" I asked. Another subject change: It was what I did best.

"Sure!" He held the shoulder of his hospital gown aside, showing me. I stepped closer and bent down to examine the picture. There were seven, small, cartoon-like baby versions of comic book characters—superheroes, monsters, and one villain.

"Frankenstein," I murmured, (that explains the green). "Superman. Batman. Incredible Hulk. Dracula. Captain America, and…" I squinted my eyes slightly, leaning closer to him. "Is that Loki?" My gaze shifted upwards, to look at him. His usually happy-go-lucky attitude looked curious and calculating.

Then he broke into a wicked grin, "Of course!" He said, shrugging again and pulling his shirt up. I took that as my cue to stand, but I noticed how close the encounter had brought us. I looked down at him, my face passive but thoughtful.

_He's so much like me. So much like what I wish I could be._ How could he not be? With his lip and nose pierced, tattoo's covering his skin, dyed/cut black hair, his eyeliner (which he thought I never noticed), his love of comic books and weird music. The way he laughed at things that weren't really funny, how he always smiled a goofy lopsided grin.

_Wow, I'm starting to sound like a teenage girl talking about the love of their life. _I shook my head lightly to clear it, and listened to what he had to say;

"I mean, Thor is such a dick! Sure he's badass, but he doesn't even _try_ to see things from Loki's perspective." That is exactly the words that I'd ever longed to hear anyone utter. Thor is such a dick. He _totally _is! Like, I wouldn't care if Mikey wasn't part of my real family, I'd still love him just the same, and I'd always take his side.

A soft knock on the door brought me out of my trance, and caused the kid to jump slightly. _That was cute,_ I thought, rolling my eyes. The door cracked open and a nurse peaked inside, "Excuse me," she said, addressing the kid, "the doctor's advise you to return to your room Mr.—"

But he cut her off, "Fine, fine. Whatever. Like it even matters," he huffed angrily, starting towards the door. "Not like I was _doing anything important_." He emphasized the words to clearly make a point that he _was _doing something important.

Was talking to me important?

"I'm sorry, sir," the nurse told him, as she brought a wheelchair into the room. He just waved her off and sat down in a humph. I heard him mutter something along the lines of, 'Fuckin' hospital…damn nurses…fuck this shit…' but I wasn't exactly sure.

I looked down at him and smiled to see that he looked the same as he always did; a hospital gown, an IV machine stuck in his hand, wearing two ankle socks; one black, one orange. He never told me why, though. Just said he liked Halloween, but he didn't need to say anything since he had a tattoo all about it.

"Bye Gerard," he said, looking up at me from his long eyelashes. He looked so small and defeated sitting in that chair. I waved goodbye to him, and watch as he grudgingly held onto the arms of the wheelchair and was taken out of Mikey's room. His shoulders were so tense that I almost told the nurse he could stay a bit longer if he wanted to.

Wait…that's another thing; I didn't know his name.

I didn't know anything about him; no name, no reason to be in the hospital, no family around, no friends. All I knew about this guy was that he hated conformity, but liked comic books, old monster movies, self-expression, and had the purest voice I'd ever heard before in my entire life.

If things worked out in my favor, he might actually be my friend one day.


	3. Blood

Battle of the Bands—Blood

If I had a dollar for every time I wanted to kill myself, I'd be rich. If I had a dollar for every time I went to the hospital, I'd be rich. If I had a dollar for every time I was lonely, every time I cried, every time I wished that my life were different, every time I hoped that someone would accept me, I'd be filthy fucking rich.

However, if I had a dollar for every time I wanted to kiss Gerard Way, I'd have exactly one dollar. There are so many times when I wish I could tell him my name, tell him my story…but I can't. I've learned not to do that anymore, because if you tell someone your name or your story they start to drift away.

The only reason they want to be your friend is so that they can learn everything about you—study you like you're an experiment—and then move on to the next person. I've stopped letting that happen to me, and it started on the day that I first saw Gerard Way.

It was tragic, really. The way that Gerard cried, the way he held Michael's hand as he was being wheeled into the E.R. I didn't think I'd seen something so heartbreaking, and I spend a good damn amount of time in this shit-hole of a hospital.

He just kept screaming that he wanted to see his brother, "You don't understand! You just don't understand! I HAVE to see him! I HAVE TO!" It broke my heart, really. I wanted to comfort him, but I didn't want to upset him, so I bought him coffee. He looked like he needed it, you know?

Immediately I'd hoped that Gerard would be okay, and that his brother would make a full recovery. I told him that, actually.

"Hey," I said tentatively, walking towards him. He was sitting at a table, crying all alone in a corner of an empty room, and the look on his face was terrifying. Terrifyingly beautiful, that is. I mean, I don't usually think about how attractive random strangers are, but there was something different about him.

His black hair was what most people would call greasy, but I called it 'Sex hair' because that's exactly what it looked like. There was a dark smudge on his cheek, but it looked like a charcoal smudge. There was blood smeared on his neck, but it didn't look gross. It actually looked stunningly and enthrallingly grotesque as it contrasted against his otherwise flawless pale skin. I couldn't see his eyes, but I bet they were beautiful.

But the expression on his face was heart wrenching; I could have sworn I saw hostility and anger and regret. But above all, I saw sadness.

"I, uh," I was really nervous…I just didn't know what to say, "I b-bought you, er, coffee." Awkwardly I presented it to him, looking down at my feet. I heard him shift in his seat and felt the weight of the coffee in my hand disappear. Shocked, I looked up—I was blushing madly.

"So," I said before he could say anything, "I saw him go in." I didn't have to say who I was talking about, because he already knew. I sat down across from him and looked at my hands folded in my lap. "He didn't look too good, but I've seen worse." I hoped that I didn't sound insensitive…

"I walked past his room, and it looked like they were really trying to help him," I frowned down at my fingers that were playing with a rubber band on my wrist.

"…does that mean he's dying?" My head snapped up immediately at the sound of his voice; it was raw and tired, it was thick and nasally, it was concerned and angry, and it was the most beautiful thing I'd ever heard.

"I'm—I don't…I can't say for sure," I said quietly.

"I was so fucking irresponsible," he said suddenly, looking out the window that was next to him. The moonlight played off of his face, and I was mesmerized by the eerie glow his skin emitted.

"I won't try and tell you it wasn't your fault," I said hesitantly. "You probably don't want me to say that, anyways. It'd just make you feel worse; make you ask 'Then whose fault was it?!' and I don't want you to ask that." He looked like he wanted to protest, but he was too exhausted to say anything, so I decided I'd say both sides of the conversation and he'd correct me if I was wrong.

"Listen, I see a lot of people come in here, a lot of people who never make it out. And if you're wondering, I'd like to say that my information is pretty up-to-date because I've spent the last three months here. All day, every day." His eyes widened and I saw the strangely lifeless twinkle in them, but still not their color. Damn.

"Yeah, shocking…but not to me. These doctors and nurses," I didn't know where I was going with this, but I was really starting to get worked up, "They _adore_ me. But I have to tell you, it's really quite alarming 'cause I'm such an awful fuck." A curious look came over his face; one of confusion, sadness, and speechlessness. But the look disappeared just as quickly as it had come, and he looked away; staring into his coffee cup.

"I can't give you my life to save his, though I'd be better off that way. In fact, there's _nothing _I can give you, but here's what I'll do: if you stop beating yourself up about this, I'll spend five hours of every day with your brother. Deal?" I had no fucking clue what I was getting myself into.

He stayed real quiet for a long time, and I was starting to wonder if I'd scared him or something. Then he looked up at me, and I could see the tears forming there. Shit! What if I made him mad? Scared? Worried?! Fuck, I don't know!

I stood up so quickly that the chair I was sitting on fell over, and I put my hands up as if to defend myself. "I—I'm sorry! I d-d-didn't know that would upset you," I was breathing so fast that I knew my monitor was about to go off, "I don't want t-to make you m-mad or anything!" I closed my eyes, and tried to concentrate on staying conscious.

That's when something incredibly strange happened: There I was, just standing there, embarrassed as fuck, and slowly I feel his arms encircle me. My breath caught in my throat as he breathed against my ear, "I don't know what to s—"

Apparently he was as caught off guard by this hug as I was, because when I hugged him back he stopped talking. I knew he was trying to say 'Thank you', but he seemed too embarrassed to actually say that.

When I pulled back he quickly put his hands in his pockets and looked down at his feet. I decided that the situation had been awkward enough—you know, hugging someone I'd never met before and vowing to spend a ridiculous amount of time with his comatose brother—so I just smiled that goofy 'This is fucking weird' smile that everyone thought meant 'Glad we talked'.

"Hey," I said, "see ya later, man." I pat him on the shoulder once and turned to leave, but then I remembered something, "Oh, what's your name anyways?" I asked looking up at him (damn tall people…I mean he was easily six inches taller than me!)

"G—Gerard," he stammered, blushing deep red. I can only imagine why HE'S uncomfortable. He didn't initiate this conversation! "What about you?" He asked.

I hesitated, biting my lip, before deciding that I'd tell him, "I'm F—" and it was at that very moment that a doctor rushed over to me and grabbed my wrist, looking down at the small machine that was flashing a red light.

"You have to return to your room, immediately," she told me. Then she turned to Gerard, "I'm sorry to interrupt, but he's not supposed to be out of his room past eleven or his bronchitis starts acting up." As if on cue, I started coughing, and glared at the nurse who gave me a stern but apologetic look.

Before I could even say anything I was being pushed backwards into a wheelchair and taken away from Gerard. I looked over my shoulder and smiled at him sheepishly, "Bye Gerard." I said so quietly that I didn't think he'd heard me.

From that day forward I saw Gerard every day for two months, and every day it was the same routine; he came in looking sad, bought three coffees, and secluded himself to Michael's room. He only left if he got hungry, which he rarely did. Once he looked at me skeptically, obviously wondering if I spent the required amount of time with his brother that I'd promised.

I felt guilty, but not because I didn't spend five hours a day next to Michael, but because I didn't have to guts to be in his room when Gerard came. I spent from ten in the morning to three in the afternoon in his room, and Gerard came at four thirty—half an hour after school let out.

Oh, how do I know when school gets out? That's a funny story…because I actually go to the same high school—actually the middle school attached to the high school—as Gerard and Michael (which is why I took such an interest in him when he first arrived). I mean, I never TOLD Gerard that I knew who he was—I'm actually two years younger than him in school, and eighth graders just didn't talk to Sophomores—but I was starting to think that I should have. I didn't want him to feel alone, you know?

But now I'm a freshman who takes online courses from the high school, and if I'm lucky I'll get to go to school my senior year! Awesome, right?! Yeah, I know. Fuck my life. That actually leads me to my next point in the story; after two months Gerard's parents told him he could only go a few days a week, because his grades were slipping. That didn't really matter to him though, which scared them.

However Gerard didn't care, because he wanted to be an artist and he didn't need good grades in science, math, and history to go to school to be an artist. He just needed to be good in English, music, and art—all of which I'm sure he's FANTASTIC in.

But I'm getting off track; he came three days a week, Monday, Thursday, and Friday. Actually he came four days a week, Wednesday too, but his parents thought that he was working on a science project with a friend of his.

When he started coming less often I felt like I had to spend MORE time with Michael, but it's not like he's gonna get mad at me…he's in a coma. He won't actually remember me at all when he wakes up. I say 'when' because I know he will. After spending this long in a hospital you start to feel like a doctor, so I took the liberty of monitoring his brain activity…he likes it when I play guitar or when Gerard is talking to him. I suspect Gerard also sings to him.

But I still decided that five hours every day and seven on the weekends was a good compromise. Of course I didn't tell Gerard about my little switch of time, but he didn't need to know. It's not like HE'S gonna remember me either when Michael wakes up.

I never talked to Gerard when he came to the hospital other than a small, "Hello" or a short quick, "Bye". He never said 'Hello' or 'Bye'…he always said, "Hey" and, "See ya 'round". Once he said, "Oh, I'm so sorry!" when he spilled his coffee on me, but it was no big deal. "Hey, it's fine, man!" I smiled at him, hoping to actually see his eyes which usually hid behind a curtain of beautifully messy hair. But I didn't…damn. Then I just went on with my day.

That brings me back to today—the first time I wanted to kiss Gerard Way.

I decided to bring my guitar again and play it for Michael, but this time I decided that I wanted to sing to him as well. I wasn't the greatest singer—no that shit was reserved for someone else—but I wasn't tone deaf either. I sang Goodbye by Secondhand Serenade; I'd heard the song on the radio once and thought it fit my life perfectly.

Well, it fit my life perfectly, and because I felt that I had a little bit of a crush on Gerard. I mean, I've been openly gay for the past three years. Of course Gerard didn't know I was gay, and that might have been for the best. So yes, I FELT that I had a SMALL crush on Gerard Way. It hadn't been confirmed until…today.

After making him CRY, our conversation was starting to wander into unwelcomed territory—the reason why I'm in the hospital… He gratefully changed the subject to my new tattoo (okay, yeah, I know it's fuckin' ridiculous for a fifteen year old kid to have a lot of tattoos, but I do! I'll explain that later).

My tattoo had a few of my favorite comic book/monster movie characters—Superman, Batman, the Incredible Hulk, Dracula, Captain America, Loki, Frankenstein—and he got VERY close to me when he was looking at them. He seemed surprised that I'd have a super-villain among the superheroes, and looked up to question me.

That's when I completely lost everything I'd been thinking about, and my mind was filled with one thing. His mother fucking eyes. They were like nothing I'd ever seen in my entire life, and it scared me. They were still red from crying, and a few tears still sat in the corners of his eyes. But they were clear as day, a strange color caught between green and brown and that made it all the more beautiful.

That's when I realized that I really liked Gerard Way, and that I desperately wanted to feel his soft thin lips on mine…but it's my luck that he's probably straight, or thinks I'm weird or something like that, so I'll just have to try and get over him. You know, thinking about it, it might be harder than I expected, because I saw him four times a week, and basically lived with his brother.

Either way, I think that I quickly covered my shock with a smile before continuing the conversation, but the only thing I was really thinking of was Gerard Way's eyes and how it wasn't anger, or confusion, or agony that I saw in his eyes.

It was nothing more than words, words that screamed, "I can't control myself because I don't know how…"

They were filled with words that said, "I understand."

And more than anything his eyes were filled with a single word that I could read better than any word in the English language…

"Help."


	4. Patron Saint

Battle of the Bands—Patron Saint

"Hey!" I called after him. I honestly couldn't believe my eyes; he was just walking down the hallway when he turned around with a confused look on his face. Oh man, I was just _itching _for it. That look…that look of recognition. I loved it, and there he was squinting at me from a distance. His face was calculating and…oh, then it happened. His eyes got wide, and his jaw dropped; recognition. It was that mixed with disbelief.

"Oh. My. God!" He said as a shocked smile spread across his face. He dropped everything he was holding—books, papers, and a book bag—and put his hands to his head. He ignored the strange looks he was getting from the hospital staff as he walked towards me, "Frank!" He exclaimed, throwing his arms around me and hugging me tightly. He picked me off the ground in a bone-crushing hug (literally…I think I felt my back crack), and just held me there for a few seconds. He set me down and took a step back so he could examine me; he looked at me skeptically, "They've been feeding you, right?"

"Fuck yeah! Of course!" Okay, so it was the truth—they _were _feeding me—however that didn't imply that I always ate what they served. "Though, I could do with some Qdoba right about now." I pat my stomach in demonstration.

"I'll see what I can do about that," he laughed, lazily throwing his arm around my shoulders. I laughed and elbowed him slightly. We started to walk back towards his abandoned school work that was lying on the ground before I started talking again.

"Shit man," I sighed, yawning slightly. "How long has it been?" He paused slightly, putting one finger to his chin and staring into the distance. "Two years? Three, maybe? I have no fucking clue…I lost track." He sounded sad, but I could tell he was just happy to see me and was trying as hard as possible not to put a damper on my spirits.

"It's good to see you, Frank." He said leaning on me slightly and starting to walk again; he nearly knocked me over, but I probably would have taken him with me. He was crazy taller than me, and since becoming really sick I was crazy skinny. I ducked out from under his arm and laughed. "Good to see you too, Ray." I beamed at him. He bent down to pick up his stuff and shoved it idly into his bag.

When he stood up I gave him that look; it was my own personal look of recognition. It was one that Ray both hated and loved at the same exact time. Since I hadn't seen him in such a long time I decided that I was going to give him a break, "Oh, I missed you," and then I gestured for him to walk ahead of me. He gave me a look of surprise and then started to walk.

He was two steps away when I changed my mind about the whole 'giving-him-a-break-thing'. I launched myself at him and clung onto him, wrapping my arms around his throat and my legs around his torso; oh, he totally saw that coming.

"I totally saw that coming," Ray said with a laugh."

"So what're you doing here?!" I asked with a slightly bounce causing Ray to tip over slightly; us being together again was just like riding a bicycle…a tall, hairy bicycle. He just righted himself and shrugged, "I'm here to visit you," he said with a tentative smile, but we both knew that wasn't what I meant.

"I mean, that are you doing here in _Jersey_? I thought you moved to England for, like…for good or something…" I trailed off, ignoring the rock that just plummeted into my stomach. I always got that feeling when I thought about my best friend half way across the word where I couldn't ever see him.

"My…" he stopped walking and shoved his hands in his pockets, uncomfortably (and not because I was using him as a transportation device). "My parents." Oh God; I braced myself for the worst, "They got a divorce." I frowned, my brows furrowing. I sniffed once and brushed the tip of my nose with the back of one finger. Ray laughed and continued walking.

"Still do that when you're at a loss for words, Frank?" Ray asked, smiling and forgetting the whole divorce subject just as quickly as it had been brought up.

"Old habits die hard, motherfucker," I smiled as we passed a familiar room. I quickly tapped Ray on the shoulder, "Hold on, I forgot; go back to that room. You can hang out in there with me, but…long-story-short, I gotta do something kinda important."

Ray just backtracked and when I slipped off his back and closed the door, his shoulders slumped in sadness, "Oh…" Ray whispered. I looked at him in confusion wondering why he was so shocked; he'd seen dozens of patients visiting me every weekend when he lived here, so why was this one so different? I turned to face Ray who was absolutely stunned.

"Are you okay?" I asked slowly.

He turned to me with an intense look of skepticism and anger, "Mikey Way?" He turned to me, with look of intense skepticism. "Mikey Way?" He asked quietly.

"Wha—" _Holy shit_! "You know this kid?!" However, the whole 'Mikey' nickname gave me a weird feeling in my stomach.

"Yeah," Ray said, moving to the chair next to the bed. And it's a good thing he did; it looked like he was gonna fucking pass out. "He lived with me for five weeks about four years ago, because…" his voice trailed off as he ran a hand through his tangled abundance of hair.

"Because," I prompted. When he didn't answer, I dragged a chair next to his and sat down so he was forced to look me in the eye. "Because of what, Ray?"

"It really isn't my place to say, Frank." He said warily. I could tell he really wanted to just get it off his chest, but at the same time I got the feeling that it wasn't his news to share. I just sighed at him, and rolled my eyes gently; I wanted to show him that he could trust me and was peeved that he wasn't telling me, but that I understood his predicament.

"You can…" I didn't have to finish my sentence for him to know what I meant.

"Because of his brother," Ray said so quietly I almost didn't hear. I felt my heart stop at the mention of Gerard. I don't know why I had such an interesting reaction towards him, but at the same time I thought that it must have been my crush on him. In fact, I was starting to feel a little bit sad because the last time I ran into Gerard was four days ago when I made him cry (…what can I say? I know how to make friends).

"Gerard?" I asked. Ray's eyes almost bugged out of his head.

"Wait! How do _you _know Gerard?" He asked, apparently forgetting his earlier reluctance to discuss the subject. There was something in his response to what I'd said that made me uneasy. It was almost like he knew something that I didn't.

"Well, uh," I started slowly, "A year ago Michael was totally bagged by some douche-bag in a hit and run," I gestured to the sleeping boy next to us. "He almost didn't make it, and that was fuckin' scary as shit man…" I rubbed my face in exhaustion—just talking about this made me wanna fuck shit up. "They, uh, managed to keep him stable…he was alone, you know. Just walking down the street alone when it all happened. Their parents were away for vacation or something, so Gerard was left in charge…" my voice caught in my throat; I cleared it and continued.

"It was chaos. I mean when Michael came in. I think Gerard was worse, though. He looked like _shit_." (And that was the biggest lie I had ever told.) "I thought he was going to do something stupid. He had that look in his eye, you know? I peace-offered coffee, and told him that I'd spend five hours every day with Michael until he was no longer in a coma." I shook my head, half trying to forget, half in disbelief that Ray was still paying attention. "I had no fucking clue what I was getting myself into, but it's not like I have many friends in this place." That comment seemed to draw a small smile from my friend, and I smiled back.

"To sum up the rest of the story; we've only talked maybe a total of ten times each time being, like, ten minutes _maybe_." Uh, scratch that: _THIS _was the biggest lie I'd ever told. We definitely talked way more than that, but it only felt like seconds to me. Damn, was I a motherfucking girl or _what_?! But apparently Ray could sense the reluctance in my voice, because that's when his smile turned into a smirk.

"You like him, don't you?" He teased, pointing at me.

"No." I lied smoothly. But Ray just shook his head and leaned back with that smug smile still plastered on his stupid motherfucking face. I rolled my eyes again, but this time I was just annoyed. "Whateven, Ray." I said leaning back in my chair.

"Oh, hey! Is that a new tattoo!" Ray exclaimed suddenly when he noticed the green skin peeking out from my hospital gown. I smiled at him and untied the back of the gown letting it fall off my shoulders; I let Ray get a good look at it… Gerard had to just stand there and try and make out what parts were still stuck under my shirt.

"Pfft, fuck yeah!" I told him. Then I pointed to each of the characters as I went through my explanation, "Superman, cause he's a B.A.M.F; Batman, even though I fuckin' hate him; Incredible Hulk, because he deserves the "Anger Management of the Year" award; Dracula, as I'm real fond of vampires; Captain America—even though I have Superman, I feel that Marvel is better than DC; Loki, cause I've always had a thing for the villain who had no choice but to be evil; and last but not least, Frankenstein."

_Ah, Frankenstein_. I'll elaborate a bit more on that one. When I was young and I had just started to visit the hospital regularly, the doctor that I went to see always called me Frankenstein because he knew that I loved old monster movies, and Frankenstein was my favorite.

Besides, that's kinda my nickname.

"Good enough for me," he said, shrugging, as if his approval was absolutely necessary. It was then that something very important dawned on me. I glanced at the clock that was on the wall and mentally fucking cursed myself. "We should leave," I said abruptly. He looked at me questioningly and then he glanced at the clock.

"But didn't you say you were going to spend five hours with him?" Ray asked glancing at the clock as well, "It's only been half an hour." _Shit, shit, shit_… this was not going to work out in my favor at all. It was a half day at the high school; I knew because I'd always gone in early in the morning to check in with teachers considering how I still had to do all that school shit (fuck my life, man. Fuck _all_ that shit.)

"Yeah, but…" I looked at the clock in anticipation. "It's eleven twenty three." That earned me another confused look. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, biting on my lip ring. "It's a half day, and that means that at exactly eleven twenty six Gerard will walk through that door," I sharply pointed at the door, "and I don't talk to him." Mainly because he's getting more persistent about me telling him who I am, and why I'm in the hospital.

"_Don't_ talk to him, or _won't_ talk to him?" Ray murmured, giving me his 'Doctor-Phil-Knows-Everything-Frank' look.

"_Can't_." I clarified.

"Am I still the only one who knows? Well, besides the doctors, I mean?" I nodded gravely, and watched as his expression turned from confused, to angry, to frustrated, to sad. "Frank," he sighed, "things aren't the same. There are plenty of people who would be willing to be with you, regardless of your health… I suppose you haven't told him your name yet?" He didn't have to say who he was talking about.

"Not that it matters," I hissed. It was exactly then that I heard the doorknob start to turn. My head snapped towards the sound, and my eyes went wide. I panicked when I remembered that I was half naked, and hurriedly tied my gown up again. The following events sort of blurred together, because I was making a giant life-changing decision, but this is what I remember:

"Holy fuck!" Gerard exclaimed, slamming the door behind him. Ray stood up out of nervousness and his hand flew to his hair—one of his habits. "What the fuck are you doing here?" If someone didn't know better they would have thought Gerard was angry that Ray was there, but that seemed to be the exact opposite of what he actually meant.

"He's visiting me." Looks like I'd finally found my voice, although it cracked about a bazillion times before staying steady.

"You?" Gerard asked, looking at me, puzzled.

"Yeah," I said, "Ray and I…when he lived here he was my best friend."

There was something in Gerard's expression that made me stand on edge. I couldn't tell what it was, but I didn't like it. "So," Gerard's voice broke, "I guess you know about Mikey, then?" There was that damn nickname again! Did they _like_ to confuse me?!

"Yes." Ray said before I could say anything.

"I told him," I added. "Sorry."

"No. What? No." Gerard said, moving to sit down at another chair on the other side of the room. "It's fine, really." He said shaking his head, and running a trembling hand through his hair. I smiled to myself when I noticed that we both did that when we were thinking.

"Gerard, I believe that…" Ray pointed to me, knowing that I hadn't told him my name yet. "_He_ hasn't told you his name or anything about him really." I frowned at Ray, wondering where he was going with this.

"Uh, yeah," Gerard said looking as confused as I felt.

"Well, I feel like a year is too long. If you don't tell him your name, then I will." Ray said crossing his arms over his chest and turning his nose up like we weren't good enough for him.

"_What_?!" Gerard and I said at the same time.

"That's right, you heard me!" See there was one saying that ran through my head continually, whenever I was with Ray. It was one that I'd voiced many times to him, and he just laughed; God what an insufferable twat.

"God, what an insufferable twat." Gerard said with a smirk on his face. Ray looked at me with the biggest 'HOLY-FUCKING-CHRIST-ALMIGHTY-YOU-TWO-ARE-PERFECT-AND-YOU-HAVE-TO-GET-MARRIED-_**NOW'**_ look.

I just returned it with my 'How-The-Fuck-Do-You-Think-This-Is-Okay?!_' _look. _Holy shit,_ I thought running both of my hands through my hair. _Did he just say what I think he just said? Well of course he did, _duh_! I thought it first didn't I?_

"Oh I know," Ray said with a devious smile, "You know, Gerard. I've actually heard those exact words uttered to me many times before. Aren't I right?" He looked at me and smiled. Gerard's head snapped toward me with this look of disbelief and something else that I couldn't pinpoint. If we were closer friends I'd say it was a look of deep fondness, but he would never look like that…not at me.

"Well?" Ray prompted, looking as if he were the most innocent little kid on the face of the planet… I knew better; he was a demon child sent straight from Hell to become the Anti-Christ and set fire to my life and make the world explode. He was going to do it; he was going to tell Gerard that my name was Frank and that I…

"Gerard Way." I said walking over to him and holding out my hand, "My name is Frank Iero…and—and I have cancer."


	5. Give 'Em Hell, Kid

Battle of the Bands—Give 'Em Hell, Kid

"I'm sorry, what?" It was quite a strange thing to hear someone say, wasn't it? _I have cancer_. I mean, what do you tell them? I mean, you could say, 'Oh, I'm sorry.' No that makes you sound like a dick-wad. Then maybe you can try, 'Are you okay?' Uh, well, if they weren't okay, don't you think that they'd be bedridden or unconscious because they're dying from fucking _cancer_!? So the best thing I could come up with was _I'm sorry, what?_

"Yeah, Hodgkin's Lymphoma, to be more specific." When Frank (oh my dear Jesus Christ I almost passed the fuck out when I heard his fucking beautiful name) saw that I wasn't going to shake his hand, he awkwardly ran it through his hair and smiled. "See, I have the Epstein - Barr virus, because I get bronchitis and mono so often. It just eventually lead to…this."

My brain was just _not _comprehending this…at all. Like, the _second_ he'd said those words my brain just suddenly; _The fuck is this shit?! Well okay, here we go! Register in brain…register in…brain is registering…nope. Not possible…installation of fucking horrible news failed: would you like to try again?_ No I'd not like to fucking try again! There were too many questions that I wanted to ask; How long? Is it really bad? Doesn't it suck not to be a normal kid? _Are you going to fucking live_?

Now, THAT was the question I desperately wanted to ask him. Was this little motherfucker going to live? Whoa! Hold on a second! This kid…this kid could die from a few days from now, to a year from now. That one simple thought made my throat get so tight that I thought I'd choke and die. There was no shitting way in fucking Hell that I had an emotional attachment to him; it just wasn't possible! I wasn't trying! Well, isn't that when it happens, though? When you're not looking it's suddenly like _BAM_! 'You're welcome, Gerard'. _Yeah, you can just fuck off, Heart_.

Plus, I will admit; I kinda…sorta maybe have a tiny little crush on him. Just a wee little crush, I promise! It's just—it's just kind of hard to ignore feelings for Frank (Holy Hell, I have a [little] crush on _Frank_). Everything about him screamed, "COME ONE, COME ALL; BOYS AND GIRLS ALIKE! I'M ONE SEXY-ASS MOTHERFUCKER, BUT I'M STRAIGHER THAN A MIDGET RULER!" Anybody who looked at him would stop dead in their tracks and acquire a problem in their pants. He wasn't some conventional type of beautiful, but hey, who the fuck said I was conventional? He was remarkable… spectacular… striking, dazzling, amazingly beautiful, and in more modern terms, he was one hot piece of ass.

Yeah…a tiny little crush.

I took a deep breath before speaking, "So…uh," my thoughts were so fast, and my mouth was moving so slow, and for some reason I felt like I was about to burst into tears. "How—how b-bad, um, like, how bad?" I blinked rapidly, as if trying to clear my vision even though I could see perfectly fine.

"It's been a year." Frank (I still can_not_ get over his fucking name) whispered, shifting his vision towards Ray who looked very guilty and had taken to leaning against the wall that was nearby. "I—I go to chemo, sometimes." Oh and just because Jesus loves me, this I know, he burst into a coughing fit. I had to look away…I-I couldn't watch that kind of…I couldn't look at Ray, I couldn't look at Mikey, and I sure as fuck couldn't look at Frank—the more that I think about his name, the more I think I've fallen in love with this stupid beautiful fuck face with an amazing personality. But remember kids; tiny crush here!

Seeing that I was having a hard time with this piece of news Frank patted my shoulder jokingly, and pulled up a chair across from me. Although…c'mon, it was a fucking huge piece of news, give a guy a break here. "Hey, I think I'm pretty lucky!" He told me. "I haven't lost my hair!"

My entire mind went blank. I think that was the moment it hit me like a freight train going 200 miles an hour. Yeah I'm _sure _this was the moment that I realized: This…this is Frank. Frank has a lovely, _lovely_ name, and it fits him perfectly. Frank has flawless skin, but he chooses to get piercings and cover it in _tattoos_. Frank's hair is dyed raven black and the front hung slightly in front of his right eye while the rest of it stuck up in the most random places. Frank is an absolutely _beautiful _person who enjoys everything I do and doesn't judge me. Frank is also six or seven inches shorter than me, and he's tiny and compact and (goddamnit) he's adorable. But it's only a little crush.

It just so happens that Frank—who is the definition of amazing in every sense of the word/every possible way—has cancer. Frank is the _only _person who has made me cry out of happiness, and let's not forget that it was just with the fucking sound of his goddamned voice! And that was when I realized something else; something very sad. Frank is…Frank is actually the only reason that I've held on this long. If Frank goes away, what happens then?

_No_. No I'm not letting this happen. I can't let myself get attached to someone who could be ripped away from me. I won't let him be Mikey. I just—_I won't_. My breathing went shallow and rapid, and I felt like I was suffocating, "I'm—I'm sorry," I stood up suddenly and desperately tripped towards the door, noting that Ray was still leaning against it. He was looking at me with a half concerned half sad.

"I don't—" But I just cut him off.

"I'm sorry," I stuttered as I shoved Ray out of the way, "I can't…" I wrenched open the door and I ran. I didn't stop, or look back, or even consider the fact that I'd left everything back in that room.

I ran for the stairs, pushing people out of my way, tripping four or five times, and wondering how I was still alive since the entire world was spinning. I made for the parking lot, but for some reason I forgot where I had parked. My heart beat was loud in my ears, and I just stood in the middle of the parking lot. I probably looked pretty confused. However, a second later I noticed that I was standing right in front of my car.

I pulled out my keys and turned around, "You know," Ray's voice startled me and I dropped my keys. He was leaning against the hood of my car—wait, how the fuck did he know it was my car? _He's Ray; he knows everything_. I felt the need to run away again. I picked up my keys and hurriedly walked to the car door.

Ray followed me and continued, "You know," he repeated in a matter-of-fact tone, "he's never had visitors. Obviously aside from me and his mom." I repressed a noise of distress as I dropped my keys when I tried to open the door; I felt too anxious to be angry about it. I picked them up and fumbled with them, being careful not to drop them this time.

"He has, like, a fuck ton of tattoos and they were all _free_, because he's sick, and his cousin owns the shop. He's only 15, Gerard." This time I squeaked—very loudly, very embarrassingly, and very girlishly.

Oh, and guess what else happened? I dropped my motherfucking keys…_again_. I froze in place and swallowed hard, but I didn't say anything. I didn't move. My breathing sounded very loud in my ears. Ray sighed, and out of the corner of my eye I saw him walk towards me.

"I wasn't there for him the past three years, and I can't think of any way to make that up to him." Sensing that I was about to go ape-shit with a panic attack, he cautiously retrieved my keys for me and unlocked my car. He even opened the door, started the car, and pushed me into the seat.

"He taught himself guitar, and writes comics, and complains about not getting regular food. He's in the hospital, for _fucking cancer, _and he complains about the food," Ray laughed drily and I started to feel very small. Then Ray's voice got quiet, and I swear he looked right into my soul, "Honestly, he's amazing. And…and he likes you Gerard, he really likes you."

My emotions had had enough of me: _Fuck the entire world, you worthless piece of shit. Go back to your cave, rot away until you die and are torn from the mortal world and cast into Hell where you will burn in agony every day for the rest of eternity and then _maybe _I'll forgive you. Worthless. Piece. Of shit_.

"Me?" My voice came out hoarse and broken and barely above a whisper. Ray nodded sadly, folding his arms over his chest. I opened my mouth; no sound came out.

Ray grabbed me and shook me by the shoulders. "He's not Mikey!" Oh, that seemed to make my brain start to work again.

I shook my head, "I can't." Then I left. When I pulled into the driveway, I shut off the car and just sat there. I sat there listening to the silence, and breathing unevenly. I don't know how it happened, but within seconds I was screaming. Screaming how it wasn't fair, screaming about how this always happens to me, screaming that I couldn't save him, screaming…and screaming…and screaming. Eventually I tasted blood in the back of my throat, and tears were streaming down my face.

_Why did I leave?!_ I thought. _I could have fucking stayed with him! Why the fuck am I so full of _shit_?!_

_You couldn't do it_, part of me countered. _You can't_.

Just a tiny little crush, right?

"I can't." I whispered.

Fuck.

XxXxXxXxX

I put my hands behind my head and crossed my ankles, "Well," I sighed, leaning back in my chair, "that went better than expected." Ray snorted and rubbed his face. "I'm going after him," Ray told me, "I'll be back, I promise."

I shrugged apathetically, "Don't bother," I told him, getting up and shoving the chair away from me. "I'll see you tomorrow." I stormed past him, down the hall to my room and slammed the door. I don't know what the fuck I had expected, really. It's not every day that someone you barely know springs that kind of news on you. _Hey, I have cancer_!

What a fucking joke.

I laughed, humorlessly, and walked over to the closet. I opened it, wondering what to do. Nothing seemed interesting, so I just fell back on my default pass-time and grabbed my guitar. I sat down on my bed and looked at the clock; fucking tit fuck. _Ugh_, I needed a shot. I set my guitar down, grabbed the thin metal box that was sitting next to the clock and slid the top off. I dumped the tiny syringe into the palm of my hand, flicked the plastic end in the garbage and, well, I stabbed myself right in the shoulder.

Pfft. Fuck _that_. Then I picked up my guitar; I don't know what I started playing—maybe it was something I'd played a million times, maybe it was something I just learned, and maybe I was making shit up. I don't know.

"Really, Frank," I said, not really feeling crazy that I was talking to myself, "what did you expect to happen?" Maybe I wanted him to…I don't know. B-but…he wanted to know, okay?! He wanted to fucking know, ever since we met, and that probably just made it worse. He didn't get the chance to figure out what was happening; he didn't get to decide if he wanted me to be important, which I know all about.

I just need to stop thinking about it.

But that's easier said than done, isn't it, Frankie?

No, it's not. Just _stop_ _thinking_ about it. I let my mind wander to other subjects, and I grabbed onto the first thing that floated by. _Gerard looked nice today_. Wow, that wasn't really what you had in mind now was it? Nope. But since we're on the topic, let's just…explore it, shall we? So, Gerard looked nice today. I don't think _nice _is the correct word to use when one is referring to Gerard Way.

Gerard looked beautiful? Eh, well, it was more accurate, but it wasn't quite what I was going for. He was wearing battered, old, black high-tops, and black skinny jeans, he had on a white t-shirt with the letters "M.C.R." written on it in black sharpie. He also had an old Misfits sweatshirt, but he wasn't wearing it, obviously.

He was quite thin, surprisingly—not that I assumed he was fat—he just had a shocking amount of muscle. It wasn't bulging out like the gross jocks at school; it was just defined in his arms and legs. But what really made me feel like a teenage girl, was his hair. It was always so perfectly messy. I've thought about running my fingers through it more than I'd like to admit.

"Lovely," I sighed, closing my eyes, "he looked lovely." And I'm not sure why, but later I came to find that a single tear—seriously, what the actual _fuck_?—had rolled down my cheek, and soaked into my shitty hospital gown. I opened my eyes and looked down at my fingers, which were still picking, monotonously, at the strings beneath them.

"Fuck this shit. I wanna go home." I said to myself. "Tonight, I'm _so_ going home."

XxXxXxXxX

"Now, Frank," My mom's voice sounded worried over the phone, "are you sure about this?" I wanted to laugh; she worried a bit too much. I mean, it's not like things could get _worse_; I'm pretty sure things are as bad they can get. I have cancer, I get rejected by everyone I meet, and I'll never find love. What's worse than that? Besides, I couldn't come back to the hospital any time I wanted, right?

The hospital never let anyone use my room, since I'd probably need it at a moment's notice anyway, and I still kept a few things there when I went home. I'd _have_ to leave them here this time, for sure, because I'd still have to visit for five hours every day—oh fuck no, I was not breaking my promise to Gerard, even if he wanted nothing to do with me.

"Mom," I replied, smiling, "I'm positive." Then she went on and confirmed the precautions, double checking that she had all of my medicine (not that she couldn't get some from the _fucking hospital_)."Yeah," I said, cringing slightly as she listed off my twenty medications, "yeah, that's all of 'em. Oh, should I get some IV's too? Or do you have those." I waited as she checked the giant-ass cabinet we had at home that was labeled _FRANK_. "Okay, I'll get 50. Okay, love you too, bye."

I'm not gonna lie; I was so fucking excited. I got to wear motherfucking pants again! Pants, and a regular t-shirt, and pajamas, and eat _whatever the fuck_ I wanted! Another good note was that my birthday was in a week. I'd be home for my 16th birthday, and I'd get _real_ food! (Yes, I'm excited about the food, so sue me.)

After I'd changed into the clothes that I always kept at the hospital—black skinny jeans, and a Smashing Pumpkins shirt—I pulled on my shoes, and shoved a whole bunch of shit into my backpack before making my way to Michael's room. Ray had left a note, obviously know I'd come back.

'_Heya Frankie. You should probably take Gerard's stuff with you, because he'll have forgotten about it. Besides, I know you're coming back tomorrow anyways—yes, I know you're going home. You're my best friend, remember? You're like an open book…a really short, really wordy book. Anyways, I won't come visit you at home unless you text me. I know you'll want to be alone. I'm sorry. See ya soon. Ray_.'

The note was nice enough, though I'm not sure why he said sorry, considering how none of this was his fault…except that _all of it _was his fault. I shrugged, and took his advice anyways, picking up Gerard's bag and the notebook on the ground.

It only took like ten minutes for my mom to get to the hospital, but then the both of us had to sign, like, a ton of release papers, even though everyone in the goddamned place knew us. Next we were in the car and driving home, and I couldn't stop smiling like an idiot. Mainly because I was going _home_, and partly because this was only the second or third time I've been to this house. My mom moved closer to the hospital once she realized that I'd be there every other week or so, which was a smart move on her part.

The second we pulled into the driveway, I ran into the house, up the stairs, and straight to my room; even if I'd only been here once I stillwould have made sure I knew room was mine before leaving. I burst through my bedroom door, throwing mine and Gerard's shit on the floor. I jumped on the bed and rolled onto my side, examining my room. It was still dark, just like I always wanted it to be. Posters of different bands, and pictures from comic books or movies were plastered on every inch of my wall. There were stacks and stacks of books piled carefully on the T.V. tray in the corner. Under the tray was my amp. Next to that I—

My amp! I had almost forgotten about the electric guitar that I kept at home. Anyways, next to my amp/books were my dresser and then a bin of movies, and a box of comic books. In a shelf next to my bed were about 100 C.D's. Then, of course, there were binders and books and shit for school subjects that I never actually studied lying all over the ground.

That was when my eyes found their way to the other pile of things lying on the ground. My stuff…and Gerard's stuff. I wasn't sure if I should look at it, you know? Sure, it was _his _stuff, but it was at _my _house, right? That must've made it okay for me to look at. No, that's not right; I think my logic is a bit flawed. But, oh, what's this?! His notebook lying open on the ground. Well, if that's not an invitation, I don't know what is.

I got up and stealthily crawled across my floor—though, I don't know why considering I was the only fucking person in there. I picked it up and settled myself against the wall. The cover was black and had nothing written on it, and when I opened it up my jaw hit the ground. I'm not being generous here, but I honestly couldn't tell if there were pictures pasted in here, or if he drew all of these. And _holy shit!_ Is that what Mikey looked like before the accident? He was such a happy kid, he didn't really smile, but he always looked content.

I flipped through the pages, wishing I could steal the notebook and never give it back, but I knew I would have to eventually. Maybe I could photocopy them? No, that's weird. There were skeletons and monsters and some gruesome looking zombies, but they were fucking awesome. This kid was going place.

Thinking about him…about his future; it just made me sad. I'd never get to be a part of that. I mean I would never get something _like_ that. No, I don't care about being a part of _his _future! No… but I was right all along, wasn't I? You tell someone something about you and suddenly they disappear. I don't know why, but suddenly I felt paranoid. I felt like something bad was going to happen to me; something horrible.

Okay, now I was just fucking pissed the fuck off; I thought maybe one time, _one time, _someone would actually accept me, you know? They wouldn't get scared, or fuck off, or take a giant shit on my life. This always happened to me, _always_; don't you think I'd get a fucking break or something?! Well, apparently not, right?

I'd tried _really hard_ to put this off for as long as possible, but not even the strongest person in the world would be able to handle this shitstorm that passes as a 15 year-old kid's life. So that's when I broke down. I broke down and cried. Nobody, _nobody, _makes me fucking cry. But this stupid, beautiful, amazing, ass-wipe did, and I'll never forgive him. He was my last chance at being a completely normal kid. He was my last chance to make a friend before possibly dying. And now he was gone.

I don't know how long I cried—maybe a few minutes, maybe for hours (which seems more plausible)—but all I know is that I cried myself to sleep, and my mom found me later that night when she called me down to eat.

"Frank?" I heard as someone shook me awake. "Frank, are you okay? You look like you've been crying." I could hear the sadness in her voice; nobody wants their kid (who has cancer) to be sad about something other than having fucking _cancer_. I sat up and yawned, stretching my arms above my head.

"No," I lied. "I'm fine." But I wasn't, and she knew that, and I knew that, but nobody was going to bring it up. Not while it wasn't a real problem. She just nodded and handed me a pair of sweatpants, asking me to come downstairs for dinner. "I'm…I'm not hungry." I lied again. I was starving, but I couldn't eat.

"Frank…"

"Mom," I warned, "I'm fine." She nodded again, kissed my head, and left. And again; I wasn't okay. I wasn't going to be okay, but I couldn't sit in that hospital and be sad. I had to be home, because the way I dealt with my depression was not condoned by anyone I knew. In fact, even I didn't approve, but I had to do it. It was like I was addicted. Besides, nobody knew. Well, nobody saw. I always wore too many bracelets, and I always wore pants. But it had been too long since the last time I, er, let off some steam. It was a month since I was able to get enough time to actually do it. I was behind, and I needed a razor in my hand _now_.

Angrily I wiped the tears off my face and threw Gerard's notebook on the ground. I reached under my bed, grabbed the first sharp object that my fingers met, and pulled it out; glass. It'd have to do. I wiped my nose on the back of my hand and ripped the bracelets off of my wrist. I took a moment to examine the scarred skin there; it's a good thing they were scars and not scabs. I took a deep breath, raised the glass to my wrist and took a deep breath.

Of course—because this is _me _we're talking about—it was my luck that that was the exact moment my mom decided to knock on the door. "Frank?" She asked hesitantly, knocking a few times on the door. My fingers fumbled with the glass, throwing it back under my bed, and I fell over trying to standing up.

"Y-yeah?" I asked, turning around. She opened the door with an apologetic look on her face, she held up an object in her hands and I cringed; it was the shot of medicine I got for my horrible respiratory system (completely different from the other shot I gave myself), and an IV of just saline. It was kind of funny to tell people the kinds of medicine I got to take, because I knew some drug addicts who would kill to get their hands on this stuff. I rolled up sat on my bed and held out my arm (the one I hadn't taken my bracelets off).

"Sorry about this." She said quietly as she grabbed my arm and looked for the most frequent point where she could stick the needle. I watched her do it in silence, because needles never really scared me and it didn't really hurt. It was the after effect of Ephedrine that really got to me. I mean, sure, I could breathe great for the next twenty four hours, but for the first three hours I was sleepy as fuck, and I was pretty much useless, except I could play guitar, so that's exactly what I did.

With a new IV in my hand, and my amp plugged in (and the volume turned down, because the meds made loud noises fucking horrible) I sat on my bed and started writing a new song. The lyrics came easier when I was drugged up—was there a reason for that? I'm not sure.

"I took a train outta New Orleans, they shot me up full of Ephedrine. This is how we like to do it in the murder scene. Can we settle up the score? If you were here, I'd never have a fear. So go on, live your life, but I miss you more than I did yesterday." Quite obviously the song was about Gerard…that fucking prick.

NO! Don't think about him. Don't…fucking…_shit._

Aaaaand here I was, crying. Again. I couldn't trust myself with a sharp object, and I was too lazy to go looking for one, so I decided to wait until tomorrow since mom would be at work and I'd have my bike and shit to go to the hospital. I'd have almost 12 hours alone; fucking yes! So twenty minutes later I fell asleep with the guitar in my hands, and I didn't wake up until noon the next day.

XxXxXxXxX

"Gerard!" The voice was pretty fucking annoying. "Gerard, wake the fuck up!" I rolled over and opened one eye to see who the fuck was trying to wake me up so early. My eyes met a giant fuzz-ball of hair, and I automatically knew:

"Ray, get the fuck outta my house. Who let you in?" I lifted my hand, and lazily swatted at him. He easily dodged it, and hit me in the back of the head in protest. He laughed at my small noise of displeasure, "Your mom let me in." He replied shrugging. Okay, I don't know what gave Ray the idea that we were all buddy-buddy but it certainly wasn't me. Besides, he seemed pretty peeved at me the last time we talked. I grimaced in remembrance of yesterday's incident.

"What do you want?" I asked him rolling back over and closing my eyes.

"Guess who I just visited?" He asked. My eyes flew open, and my entire body stiffened; _fuck no_. There was no way that he'd go and talk to…I couldn't even think his name without wanting to kill myself. Every time I went over what happened, there was a giant knot in my stomach that didn't go away for hours. I felt like I wanted to cry, constantly, and overall I felt like a complete dick.

"Let me take a guess," I murmured, trying to cover my shock and extreme guilt. "Maybe it was F-Frank?" _Damnnit_. I stuttered over his name; now I was never going to hear the end of it from Ray, not that I really expected to anyways. Not after what I did.

"Good guess, dick." He said, happily. I heard some shuffling and suddenly I went blind; he'd pulled the curtains open all the way and was standing proudly in front of the windows, studying the passerby's with little interest.

"What the fuck?" I growled, putting a hand up and peering into the blinding sunlight.

"We need to talk." He said, turning around.

"Close the damn blinds and we'll talk." I said as I threw my blanket over my head.

"Fine." He muttered, pulling the curtain closed all the way, and sitting on the end of my bed. "Now take that blanket off your fucking cowardly head, and look me in the eye, you ass-wipe." He smacked my leg, and I yelped in pain, throwing the blanket off my head and sitting up.

"What?" I whined.

"Now, I just came from Frank's house, and let me tell you a little story of our good friend, shall we?" I cringed when he said 'Frank' and I really _didn't _want to hear his "little story" but I didn't have a choice did I? When I didn't reply Ray blinked at me once and continued, "I met Frank when we were, oh I don't know, maybe six years old. We were best friends immediately. We got to hang out all the time, and we always played, but I never really understood why he had to spend so much time at the hospital, you know? I was just a little kid. How was I supposed to know better?"

He shrugged casually, "When I got older, I started to understand. But, see, I understood it a bit differently than everyone wanted me to understand it. I saw it not as, 'Oh, Frank is sick, and he might die when he gets older, but I should pity him.' No that's fucking dumb, and it's a pile of bullshit. I saw it as, 'Oh, Frank is special. Frank is different, and I'm really lucky to have a friend like him, and he's lucky to have me.' _That's _the way I looked at it." Ray stopped talking, and looked at me for a few seconds before talking again, "It crushed us, both of us, really bad when we were twelve and my dad got a job over in England. We weren't _completely_ stupid, but we had always hoped that we'd be able to see each other every so often, you know during Christmas and such.

"Boy, were we fucking dumbasses. Frank was way too sick to even leave the hospital, and my parents wouldn't let me go traveling alone. So here I am three years later, and do you know how I feel?" He waited for me to answer, even though we both knew it was a rhetorical question. "I felt like the happiest person ever; to come back and see my best friend actually alive and healthier than I'd ever seen him. He was happier too, and I didn't know why. Shit, he _never_ looked that happy."

Fuck I was just waiting for it, and when he said it, I knew there would be a lot of gross sobbing, and a lot of snot, and there was no way to stop it. "Then we started talking, and he told me the story about Mikey, and lo and behold, the dumb idiot has a crush on you! On _you_! And this isn't some little 'Oh he's so cute' crush. No. For Frank to actually trust someone enough and think of them as a friend is a huge fucking deal and you crushed that for him. He'll probably never make any friends ever again."

_Shit, shit, shit. _There were tears already threatening to fall and I couldn't look at Ray, I couldn't block out his voice—I could stare at my hands, and I could listen to him. "And this morning I went to see how he was doing, because, fuck, everyone knows that he's depressed. And not just a little, Gerard. He's really fucking depressed. Worse than you, by far, and that's saying something, because I don't think I've ever seen anyone as sad as you are. So I knock on his door, his mom lets me in, just like yours. She's excited to see me, and has given me the ever-wanted pleasure of giving Frank is morning meds." I could tell he was being sarcastic.

"I go upstairs, and what the fuck do I see? A box of gauze and a huge fucking bandage on his thigh. There was no denying what he'd been doing, and I didn't yell at him. I didn't tell him off; I just closed the door, locked it, walked over and held him as he cried harder than I've ever seen anyone cry _ever._ He cried himself to sleep; never got a chance to take his meds, which I should probably go back over and give to him. And then I decided—" He stopped talking abruptly.

It was probably because he had finally gotten a glimpse of me. I still do not know how I managed to stay so fucking quiet, considering how I was crying harder than _I'd _ever cried, _ever_. What kind of motherfucking shit was I? This kid, who had cancer—_fucking CANCER, Gerard_—decided to go home, and cut himself because _you _were too afraid to be his friend?! What the fuck is that kind of logic?! And look at that, you both like (or liked) each other, and that could have been something.

"Are…are you," Ray had no idea what to say, "I'm s-sorry Gerard, I didn't…"

"No," I choked out sobbing again, "I'm so fucking—"

"Come with me," he said suddenly. "Come with me to Frank's house." I opened my mouth to say something, but all that came out was a small strangled noise, "I'm not giving you a choice, Gerard. You're coming with me, and you're gonna like it." Ray then took the liberty of going downstairs, asking my mom if I could go with him, and picking out clothes—throwing them at me, actually, along with a box of tissues—for me to wear. He picked a black 'The Smith's' t-shirt, black skinny jeans, and a black sweatshirt and pair of sunglasses at my request. Hey, sunlight honestly hurt my eyes.

When I got dressed, and applied a generous amount of my black eye-liner, Ray dragged me down the stairs, and to the car outside. I eyed it suspiciously, and looked at him. "I got my license three months ago, get in," he demanded. I shrugged, and silently slipped into the passenger's seat. "Oh, by the way," Ray said as he started the car and pulled away from the curb, "Frank has your stuff at his house."

"What?!" I croaked; my voice still suffered from P.C.S. (post-crying syndrome).

"Yeah, I told him to take it since I knew you'd forget about it." Fuck…if he looked through any of that shit. _Fuck_. "Okay," I replied ducking my head down, feeling sick as we pulled into a driveway. Ray guided me up to the door, and when I went to knock on it he shook his head and held up his key-chain.

"His mom gave me the key," he said. We walked in, and I stood there for a moment, just looking around. It was different from what I expected; it was bright, and sunny, and it smelled good, and reminded me of home. From upstairs we could hear an electric guitar playing along with the sound of someone singing. It was Frank, I suspected. _Uh, oh_. The last time I heard Frank singing… "Ray," I said quietly, "the last time I heard Fr—_him_ sing, I started crying…I don't think you'd want that, right?" Ray rolled his eyes at me.

"Just listen to this song, okay? I think you'll find that you've never heard it before." Obviously Ray was keeping something from me, but was not going to tell me what. _So fuck you too_, I thought. We crept up the stairs quietly and sat outside his door.

"_Well Imma total wreck almost every day, like the firing squad or the mess you made_." Ouch, that kinda hurt. "_Well don't I look pretty walking down the street in the best damn dress I own? If you were here, I'd never have a fear so go on live your life but I miss you more than I did yesterday. You're so far away, so c'mon show me how, 'cause I need this more than words could ever say_." Well, fuck this shit. I was already crying, but luckily I had my sunglasses on, and a pocket full of tissues.

"_Some might say we are made from the sharpest things you'd say, we are young and we don't care. Your dreams and your hopeless hair; we never wanted it to be this way for all our lives…do you care at all—were here I'd never have a fear, so go on live your life but I miss you more than I did yesterday, so far away. So c'mon show me how, 'cause I need this more than words could ever say_." If there was some kind of way to show that you were sorry, just by crying, I probably would have figured it out by now.

I was concentrating so hard on being quiet that I didn't notice the song had ended or that Ray was staring at me with wide eyes. "Gerard, what the fuck is wrong with you?" He asked quietly, knowing that Frank could possibly hear us. I just replied with my standard yelping noise, that I could barely help from escaping. He elbowed me, gently, because I'd been too loud.

"Shut up!" He whispered angrily, "You're not very good at this, are you?" Ray asked. It scared the shit out of me when the door opened and a bunch of stuff—my stuff—was thrown at me. "You're not too good at this either, Ray." I didn't have to look up to know Frank was pissed the fuck off.

"Frank—" but Frank cut him off.

"Get the fuck out of my house." Then he slammed the door in our faces.


	6. The Only Hope For Me Is You

Battle of the Bands—The Only Hope For Me is You Alone

"You know, Gerard, it's like he gets happier and happier every time you come 'round," Ray said to me sarcastically. He looked warily at Frank's door, hoping it might open again, but nothing happened. "Listen," Ray sighed. "I really _do _have to give Frank his meds. He's no good without them, but unfortunately there's a prescription that his mom picked up and took with her to work." Okay, I didn't exactly get how this could be unfortunate, really. I mean, what was he going to do? Go get it? Yeah, that seemed logical…so why was this unfortunate—

Then I understood. "And you have to leave me here to go get it." I finished for him, sighing and putting my head in my hands. Ray nodded though I couldn't see him. "Why can't you take me with you?" I asked him, not looking up. I could tell there was hesitation in his voice, probably because he had no real reason _not _to take me, but he wasn't going to say 'Because I feel like it'. He just came up with the next best thing.

"You don't know his mom." He said quickly, "She might wonder who you are, and what's going on, and why he didn't already take his medicine this morning. She worries like that. So you have to stay here." The sad thing was: I believed him. I took a deep breath and slid down the wall so that I was sitting next to Frank's door, "Fine," I grumbled, "when will you be back?" Okay this answer better be good otherwise we're gonna have a problem here.

"She works, like, half an hour away. Plus traffic, plus actually getting into her office." Ray was staring off into space as if calculating something incredibly important. "So…a general estimation would be, in about two hours." _You've got to be fucking me._ I thought in devastation. Two hours?! What was I supposed to do for two whole fucking hours?! Maybe there were a few things I could accomplish—art and lyrics and whatnot—but nobody could fill two hours of sitting outside someone's door, not saying anything.

"Can't you just, like, drop me off at home?" I squeaked (crap, my throat was starting to tighten up because I was thinking about everything I'd have to say to Frank if we _did_ get talking.) Really, did he expect me to be okay with that? It was almost a sure-fire way to get me pissed the fuck off; put me in a situation where I get vulnerable, and I'll rip your fucking head off. I hated Ray right now. Really actually hated him, but it didn't make a difference no matter how I looked at it.

"No," he said firmly. "It's out of the way, and I don't want to deal with your whiny ass any longer than I have to." I opened my mouth to protest, but closed it again. MY whiny ass? What about HIM?! He was the one who came to me and complained about Frank, and then dragged me here. If he didn't want me to be whiny, he should keep his fucking mouth shut. "Then I'll just—" but Ray cut me off.

"Gerard, we both know you're not going to walk home. It's a hot day in October, and you hate the sun. You're not going _anywhere_." Damnit. He was right. There was no way in hell I was going to attempt to walk home; physical exercise was absolutely torturous. So what were my options? Well, they were pretty scarce, in my opinion. I only had one of them.

"I'll stay." I choked miserably. "Just…hurry, please?" I looked up at him, and he smiled down at me, obviously pleased with himself. Oh, he knew this was going to happen. Fuck you too, Ray. Fuck you too. "Be back soon," he called in a sing-song voice as he walked down the hall, down the stairs and out the door. When I heard the door slam, I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding and leaned my head against the wall, looking up at the ceiling. I really hated this. It wasn't just because of Frank—sure, that was the worst part—but I hated being around people. It didn't suit me and nobody really wanted to be around me when I was in that kind of mood. It didn't matter how brave you were, I'd still kill you.

I shifted a bit and dug into my backpack, looking for a pencil. I flipped open my notebook and started to draw something gruesome and rotting when I started to hear an electric guitar on the other side of the door. I sat up straighter, and listened; I didn't recognize the song at all. He wasn't singing—thank the fucking lord—but it sounded like he was making something up…and I really liked it. I pulled out another sheet of paper and started writing lyrics.

Hey, maybe staying here for two hours would be okay, if we never attempted to talk to each other. I'm almost positive that if the two of us somehow got into a conversation, it'd be long and very, _very _difficult to get out of. (Not to mention that one of us—me—would probably be in tears, while the other—Frank—shook their head tiredly.)

I'm not sure how I'd handle it if he even looked at me, let alone said a word to me. Some people would say that I'm overreacting to this situation. They might say, 'Hey you haven't known him for a long time, and it's not like he's _that _important.' Well, someone who might say that can go _fuck_ _themselves_. I just don't think anyone would understand. You know when you meet someone for the first time, and it's a little awkward, or it's kinda hard to get a reading on what they think of you, but then you see each other again and you're overwhelmed by how happy that makes you? To see someone you've only met _once_?

It's like part of who you need to be has finally found its way into your life, and you'll die without it. That's what Frank was like for me, and I destroyed him. I shattered a piece of me that I'll probably never get back, and I'll never know how big that piece was, until I've tried to pick up the pieces. I started to hum a melody to what he was playing without really realizing it. I scribbled down some words, and then understood that this entire song was about him.

"_Alone, how it should be. Many is after the disasters that we've seen…_" I only had bits and pieces of what I wanted to write, but it was enough to work off of. However, I didn't know how to really start the chorus or what to put in it— now that I was writing about him, these words had to mean something to me, and they couldn't just be random. I desperately wanted to talk to him, but I didn't want to see his face or hear his voice quite yet. I just wanted to know how he was feeling. I mean, I knew how he was feeling, but I wanted to know if he's always felt this way or if I'm really the cause of all this.

Oh…that's an interesting idea.

I ripped a piece of paper out of a notebook and wrote something on it. I folded it in half and slid it under his door. I bit my lip, waiting to see if he'd respond. _Oh, God, please fucking answer. _Please_ fucking answer. _I needed him to answer. I could hear what was happening in his room; he'd stopped picking at the strings of his guitar and I heard a slight thud against the door. He most likely sat down against it.

God, please fucking answer.

XxXxXxXxX

I wasn't going to talk to that no-good rotten piece of shit sitting outside my door. I had no idea what the fuck Ray was thinking, brining him here…and then _leaving _him here to go get medicine. Who the fuck thinks that kind of thing out? What, did he ask my mom to take the medicine with her or something? I wouldn't doubt it.

I'd picked up Pansy, that's what I named my guitar, and started playing something entirely different. About five minutes later I noticed something had slipped through the bottom of my door, and although I desperately didn't want to read it, I just had to. (Hell, if he said he was sorry I'd forgive him instantly, so it's not that surprising when I felt the need to jump at any and all communication with him.)

I set Pansy down, and crawled over to my door, leaning against it. I picked up the piece of paper and ran my fingers over where he'd written 'Frank' on the front. It was perfect. I don't think there could have been more distinctive and beautiful handwriting if a fucking professional artist had done it. _So fuck you, Gerard_. Oh, great. Look at that. Now I was thinking about fucking him. Oh fuck. That would be so fucking hot, oh my God. I closed my eyes and tried to clear my head, but I had no such luck, so I'd just have to deal with it and try and push it out of my mind.

I opened the paper and read the words inside._ 'Frank…are you okay? Is there anything I could do to, you know…apologize?'_ Uh, was he a dumb fuck? Couldn't he just knock on the fucking door and say 'Sorry'? Was that really so hard? Well, I didn't think so, but I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of an easy answer; I wasn't _that _in love with him.

Wait, what? What. The Fuck?!

Did I just consider that I was in love with him? No, no, _no_! That's not even a possibility, there was a slight chance that I liked him—cue picture of him fucking me—hmmm…okay I definitely liked him, but that didn't mean I that I _loved_ him! I just needed to answer him, because _NO _I wasn't okay, and _NO _there wasn't anything he could do to apologize…other than just apologizing. I searched for a pencil and found one lying under a pile of books near the door. I scribbled an answer on it, and shoved it back under the door:

'_Oh, I don't know, Gerard. _IS _there anything you could do to apologize for, you know, being the biggest FUCK on the face of the planet?'_ Maybe it was a childish answer but, hey, I was fifteen, and he _was _the biggest fuck on the face of the planet. For almost ten minutes there came no answer, so either he was deciding what to write, deciding not to write anything at all, or writing a fuck-long paragraph. I was hoping for none of the above.

I was hoping he'd left.

Naturally I had no such luck because just after I'd decided that it might be okay to open my door, a white piece of evil slid under my door and was just staring me in the face. NO! WHY?! There was no way I could keep dealing with this bullshit; what the fuck, Gerard! I didn't actually want you to answer. But he did, anyways, and now all I could do was stalk this conversation down a dark alley and slit it's throat while it wasn't looking. Violent? Perhaps. Plausible? Of course! Grudgingly I picked up the paper and looked at it, '_Well…I don't think being a big fuck is something to apologize for_.'

…THAT was his answer? Wait, hold on a sec. Now that just seemed wrong. Did he _want _me to hate him? I mean, that makes absolutely no sense whatsoever and it's not like— Ooooohhhh. I see what he was trying to do. I don't think he saw how flawed his plan was; to make me yell at him, and force him to go away so that he wouldn't feel bad about leaving.

I don't think that's going to work, but I'd play into his ideas if that's what he wanted. '_You should go away_.' I was going to tell him to leave, but I wasn't going to yell…not yet, that is. No, I was biding my time; if he really wanted this to work out in his favor, he'd have to try WAY harder than that. It was almost pathetic.

After returning the paper to the other side of the door, I got up and walked away, searching under my bed for something sharp. Scissors? No those are dull. Glass? Not a clean enough cut. Damn…oh, that was interesting! I'd found a razor way at the back that looked almost brand new. Maybe my luck was turning, after all.

I wanted to be fast this time, because I didn't want to have to deal with someone messing me up. If I did it fast enough, and let it bleed into the garbage, I could probably get away with a couple of nice deep cuts. But I really shouldn't be letting valuable white blood cells go to waste without taking my medicine. Eh, whatever.

I went back to the door—razor in hand—sat against it like before, and pulled the garbage can between my legs. My bracelets were already off my wrist, so I placed the edge of the knife against me forearm, feeling the cold metal. I shivered, swallowing, and closed my eyes, holding my breath. I took an erratic breath and pressed down hard, pulling the blade towards me.

"Oh fuck," I whispered, clenching my hand, dropping the razor, and breathing out. A sadistically warm feeling spread over me, and I smiled, chuckling under my breath. My eyes fluttered open as a sticky warm fluid tricked down my fingertips, causing a sickly _drip, drip, drip_ on the bottom of the garbage can. I shivered again, breathing hard. Out of the corner of my eye I saw that the paper had been returned to me, and I tilted my head slightly to see what it said. '_Maybe that's a good idea._' Maybe what's a good idea? I read the line above it; oh, yeah, that's right. I told him to leave.

I looked back at my arm, watching the blood dry, and contemplated not responding…but then he'd never leave. I looked around for something to clean up, and my eyes landed on the towel that I kept in case of, er, emergencies such as this. I picked it up wiped my hand, and pressed it to the cut in my wrist, hissing at the feeling. Cradling my left arm in my lap, I picked up my pencil and the paper, careful not to get blood smudged on it, and wrote a quick reply; '_No, I think you should._' I set it down to push it back under, but then decided to add something else. _'You wouldn't like what was going on over here on my side of the door._' I sent it back, smirking, but almost feeling guilty. I went to pick up the razor again, but I don't think I'd ever heard someone so eager to answer before in my life.

"Frank!" He called pounding on the door, "What are you _doing_?! Please…don't…please." I could hear something breaking, and I couldn't tell if it was his voice or my heart or both. I cringed, crumpling the paper in my fist; damnit! I didn't actually expect him to care that fucking much. He sounded like he was crying, and he even said please. Now how the hell was I supposed to respond to THAT?!

Nonchalantly, I guess. I rummaged through a pile of stuff near me, looking for a piece of paper. I found one and scribbled a reply; '_Doesn't matter. I'm finished. I'm playing guitar now, so…bye._' And I was finished, because maybe one cut was good enough for now. I'd wait until Ray got back and then I could take my meds and I'd be all set for, at least, four more (hey, they were pretty deep, unfortunately for anyone who cared (which is no one)). I got up and went back to my bed—leaving the bloody towel near the door—picking Pansy up and turning on my amp. My cut was almost done bleeding, and I hammered down some of the chords I'd played before when I was just messing around; I was trying to write a new song, but nothing really came to me unless I thought of _him _and I don't exactly want to think about him.

I had no doubt about anything now—though I'd keep denying it—because I knew exactly how I felt about him; yeah, sure, fine, I liked him (BUT I'D KEEP DENYING IT). There was no way that I could possibly just sit around here and not act like a normal teenage boy with hormones; so let's face it, right? Gerard Way is fucking hot as fuck. Damnit! Fuck sexual fucking frustration; he was the epitome, the exact embodiment, of SEX itself. Truthfully, there was more than one reason I didn't want to see him. For the past couple of months, every time I'd seen him—every time I'd picture him—I'd have the worst problem in my pants _ever_. And I hated him for it.

I didn't notice it, but I'd gradually been playing louder and more harshly and the tips of my fingers had welts in them from pressing the strings so hard. I let out a frustrated sigh as the amp blew a circuit and the sound cut out. I pushed Pansy off my bed and she landed on the ground with a thud—I probably would have been more worried about her if she hadn't been so old. The more I thought about Gerard, the harder I got, but it was my body's natural reaction; I didn't want to! The kid was sitting right outside my door, like what the hell?! I laid down and put my hands over my eyes trying to block out everything, but only thing I could see on the back of my eyelids was HIM. Over…and over…and fucking over. I can't—

You know the fuck what? I rummaged through some drawers before I found a box of tissues. I grabbed them and marched towards the door. I was about to open it, but then hesitated; was there a possibility that he would, you know…? No I didn't think so, because if I walked quickly enough, I could make it to the bathroom in ten steps, and there's a lock on the door. I've done this enough times to have practiced for being nearly silent, but then again I never had _this _problem before. I reached out to turn the knob when I saw that another piece of paper had been sent my way.

I bent down, picked it up, and opened it: _'You're a beautiful guitar player, Frank_.'

…Oh, fuck off, you prick.

I crumpled it up, shoved it in the pocket of my sweatpants—I could only wear sweatpants for three days after cutting myself on my thigh, because regular pants hurt way to fucking bad—and prepared myself for something that I'd never considered before. To make sure I couldn't change my mind, I quickly turned the knob and opened the door. I didn't even glance towards Gerard as I turned left and immediately walked towards the bathroom. Just before I reached the door I heard it; the two words I'd been hoping he wouldn't say.

"I'm sorry." I heard from behind me. I stopped in my tracks and glanced over my shoulder slightly. Hearing his voice was pure music to my ears, I shuttered slightly and panted a little bit, "Fuck," I whined, biting my bottom lip. Did I turn around, or finish what I (_HE_) started? "FUCK!" I yelled taking the last step into the bathroom before slamming the door and locking it behind me. Okay, I needed to do this fast, and I needed to do this now. I set down the tissues, turned on the faucet, and leaned against the door. I pulled my pants down and my boxers after, being careful of my cuts, and sighed in relief at not wearing confining clothing. My left hand snaked its way down my chest, and I gasped as I gripped my cock.

"Oh sh—fuck," I whispered closing my eyes and leaning my head back. Instinctively my hand moved slowly and deliberately, and my mind went straight to the very person who was sitting ten feet away from me. I was already so painfully hard that I didn't think it was possible to get any harder; but that was proved wrong when I imagined the way that he licked his lips before saying something he didn't want to. The way he looked up at me from under his eyelashes, even though he was taller than me. The way his nose scrunched up when he was thinking or smiling too much. The sound of his voice…

My hand went faster and faster and I bit down on my lip, to keep from moaning. _Shit, fuck, damn, fuck, shit…_ the string of profanities continued in my mind as an intense heat built up in my stomach and my knees went weak. I braced myself against the door and bit down harder on my lip, tasting blood, and my mind created a picture so beautiful that I wish it were real; Gerard, flushed, eyes closed, panting, naked, beneath me…

"SHIT!" I couldn't help myself from screaming as I came harder than I ever had before in my life. I didn't even care that he probably (definitely) heard me. I was breathing so hard that the only thing I was really worried about was not passing out. My lungs couldn't take all of this imagination, and I didn't think I could either. I especially don't think my heart could have taken it; I wasn't just some horny teenager anymore. I never imagined having sex _with _people, just sex itself. And the first time I fucked someone, I wanted it to be special and with someone I really loved. So why the fuck in hell was I thinking about _Gerard Way_?!

I couldn't be in love with him, I didn't even know him! But the thing is, way down deep inside of me, I knew I couldn't keep saying I didn't know him. I _did _know him, and that's what scared me the most. Everything Gerard was willing to tell other people, I knew. He was 16, turning 17 in April—on the 9th I believe. I knew his favorite bands, like, The Smiths, Misfits, Smashing Pumpkins…wait, that last one was Mikey! He told me his favorite colours; red because blood was beautiful no matter how grotesque it may seem, and white because it meant a blank canvas. A fresh start. We shared the same political viewpoints: Ha politics fucking sucked! We had the same overall ideals on a bitchin' life; to grow-up a freak, become somebody, make someone very happy, fall in love, get married, the end. Taking all that into consideration, the questions wasn't 'how could I be in love with him?' The real question was 'how could I _not _be in love with him?'

I smiled and my heart fluttered at the thought of actually being in love. Damn I sounded girly…but I _was_ gay, right? Eh, I didn't really care, now did I? I opened my eyes, pulled a few tissues out of the box and cleaned up my shit before throwing the tissues away and pulling up my pants. I went to wash my hands, and decided to wash my wrist too; I grabbed a bottle of antibacterial soap and squirted a whole bunch directly onto the cut, "Fuuuuck!" I hissed in a sing-song voice. I quickly washed off the soap, dried it, and turned the sink off. Then I took some bandages out of the cupboard and wrapped up my cut. Never mind that my face was entirely red or that I was sweaty, or that it was quite obvious what I'd just been doing. I needed to get back to my room.

I braced myself, and opened the door. I stared at my feet the entire time I was walking back and my arms were crossed firmly against my chest. As I stepped across the threshold Gerard's voice pleaded with me, "Frank…please." He sounded tired, and sad, and broken. And it was everything I couldn't handle right now. I stopped in my tracks, closed my eyes, and took a deep breath. There was such an intense internal battle raging through me that I didn't know how to really handle all of this. I let out a small frustrated noise and went into my room, shutting the door behind me. I slid down to sit on the floor like I had been before, and then I noticed that yet another note had been given to me.

It had a lot of writing on it, and a lot of things had been crossed out. On the top, it said _'I wrote these for you.' _And it had the title of a song,_ 'The Only Hope For Me Is You'_. It sounded like something he would write. I laughed to myself before starting to read. My eyes scanned the paper, wanting to only take in bits and pieces of what he'd written, but seeing the entire thing. His words flowed straight from the paper to my soul and my nostrils flared in a desperate attempt to not cry. '_Remember me. Where, where will we stand when all the lights go out across these city streets? Where were you when all of the embers fell? I still remember them covered in ash, covered in glass, covered in all my friends. I still think of the bombs they built_.'

Holy shit, Gerard. These weren't just some dumb lyrics a four year old wrote. And he wrote these for _me_! Who the fuck cared about me? '_If there's a place that I could be, then I'd be another memory. Can I be the only hope for you? Because you're the only hope for me, and if we can't find where we belong, we'll have to make it on our own. Face all the pain and take it on, because the only hope for me is you_.' Ah fuck you and your fucking perfect face and your fucking perfect everything…

I hadn't realized that I was crying until my vision started to blur and there were wet spots on the paper I was holding. I wrapped my arms around my knees and continued reading, praying to whoever is out there that I would stop crying. '_Alone, how it should be. Many is after the disaster that we've seen. What have we learned, other than people burn in purifying flame? I say it's okay, I know you can't tell. Although you can see me smile I still think of the guns they sell_.' Damnit! If I thought I'd hated him before I wanted to murder him now. Like I said: NOBODY MADE ME CRY.

'_If there's a place that I could be, then I'd be another memory. Can I be the only hope for you, because you're the only hope for me? And if we can't find where we belong, we'll have to make it on our own. Face all the pain and take it on, because the only hope for me is you alone._' Tears wouldn't stop flowing down my face and I just wanted to punch something. I couldn't help but think to myself: You can stop any time now. No, seriously I'll wait. Aaaany time now.

My eyes got to the last lines on the page and I took my sweet ass time reading over them a few times. '_The only hope for me is _you._ The only hope for me is you alone…_' FUUUUUUCCCCKKK YOOOOOU, GERARD WAY! God damn, I felt horrible. I felt absolutely horrible; I wanted to kill myself. I couldn't take this anymore. I was going insane—this was actual mental illness here, no joke. I couldn't stand being on this side of the door knowing I could easily reach out and touch him. I threw the paper away from me, towards the bed, and pounded my fist on the door once, "Fuck you, Gerard!" Oh, and again my horrible choice of words causing major problems below the waist. Come on, I _just _jerked off!

I stood up, impatiently, and started to pace back and forth, back and forth. It wasn't until I'd stopped being pissed the fuck off I realized that he'd yelled back, "Right back at you, Frank!" My head snapped up and my eyes went straight to the door. And for some strange reason, I broke into the widest grin that's ever crossed my face in years.

XxXxXxXxX

I was finally starting to see how this kid worked—he was already so much like me that I figure I just have to treat him like I'd treat myself…well, for the most part that is. I certainly didn't like myself as much as I liked Frank. However, that was entirely beside the point. The point I'm trying to make is that no matter how much I wanted to sit around and mope, the only way I could get through to Frank was to act like I usually did; we were basically the same fucking person, so we always got along well.

I needed to learn to just stop running away. From disappointment, from happiness, from rejection, from life, and most importantly, from _love_. So here I was, waiting to find the words to describe to Frank how I was feeling. And they were so hard to find. Was there a perfect way to describe someone? No…but there was a perfect way to tell them what they meant to you, right? Shit, this kid was my _very last chance _at being remotely happy, and I wasn't going to let him get away that easily. So what was I supposed to do? Well, I'd do what I did best; music. I'd just write him a song.

And this time, the words came so easily that I didn't think my hand could keep up with my brain, because I kept forgetting the perfect parts of what I wanted to write, but eventually they came back to me. What to title it, though? I couldn't come up with a name, so I just decided to pick a line from the song, and put _that _as the title. I blindly ran my finger up and down the page until I stopped and glanced on what I'd picked. '_The only hope for me is you_'? Oh God…that was perfect.

Just as I was writing the title down, the door opened, and Frank walked out. I thought he'd come to talk to me, but he immediately turned the other way and started towards the bathroom. "I'm sorry," I called after him, hoping that he'd stop, and he did. Only to yell FUCK and continue on towards the bathroom. I was quite confused on what I'd actually done this time, but my face turned red the second I'd heard strange noises coming from the bathroom. I've made those noises plenty of times in my life—and I'm not going to lie, the last few times I'd pictured Frank (no regrets)—and I wasn't sure what caused them, but they certainly could _NOT _be me, right? …Right? …Shit. That's _so fucking hot_. I might have suddenly developed the same problem he was dealing with right now…

It was a few minutes later that a very windblown—and sexy as fuck—looking Frank walked out of the bathroom with a lively gleam in his eye. He was staring at his feet, and walking quickly with his midget legs. I needed to think of something, _anything_, to say before he closed the door, but absolutely nothing came to mind. I just decided to stay with begging and apologizing for now. "Frank…please." I pleaded, leaning towards him, wanting to reach out and touch him. He'd stopped in the door with his eyes closed, looking very frustrated. He let out a strange noise and went into his room, and closed the door.

Well, shit, my life was going fantastically right now, wasn't it? Comatose brother, Ray being Ray, fighting with the most perfect human being ever. That's the ticket, Way. That's exactly how you should handle these situations. Well, this was it, right? I didn't fold the paper this time; I just shoved it under his door as fast as possible, and waited. Honestly, I don't know how long it took for him to read it because I wasn't paying attention. I was holding my breath and keeping my eyes closed.

I jumped and hiccupped slightly when there came a bang on the door, "Fuck you, Gerard!" Now why did I find that infuriating and hilarious? It was such a little-kid answer that it was almost too perfect for him to say. It was exactly how I'd reply… and that's when this whole revelation started. Frank may be your personal God, but right now he's just Jesus; a whiny, complaining, mortal Jesus, and you could talk to him however the hell you wanted.

"Back at you, Frank!" I yelled in retort trying to keep from laughing. And then I realized just how serious it was to say that to him. I stood up, leaving my stuff on the ground, and faced his door. I bit my lip, and contemplated if I should go in or not. If I didn't do this now I'd be way to scared to ever do it _ever_. So now was the time to possibly get punched, or become really, really, _really _happy. I smiled slyly and reached for the knob. My fingers brushed the metal, and I stopped momentarily. But almost immediately I thought to myself, 'Fuckin' cunt.' And I was, wasn't I? Shit fuck, just do it. I chuckled under my breath and started to turn the knob.

The second that I'd turned it more than a centimeter, it flew open and something crashed into me, pinning me against the wall. It took my brain approximately .3 seconds to realize; Frank's face…was on my face… Frank was kissing me. _Frank _was kissing _me_. He was standing on his tiptoes, holding onto my shoulders so tight that I'd have bruises, and _kissing me_. I was so shocked that I didn't even really kiss him back; I just stood there feeling like an idiot. When he pulled back—and I could still feel his breath on my face—he just stared at me with his adorable, huge, bright green eyes. And he looked…sad? Well, why? Oh! Maybe it's because I didn't touch him or kiss him back or give him _anything _to go off of.

When I saw the fear creep into his eyes, I felt a smirk cross my face. I raised my hand and cupped the side of his face—almost jumping at the electricity that ran through my fingers—letting my thumb brush over his cheek. I ducked my head, our lips just barely brushing them. Frank let out a frustrated noise, grabbed my head, and fucking kissed the _shit _out of me. My eyelids fluttered shut, my other arm wrapped around his back, pulling him in, and I wanted to stop time in this one perfect moment.

"Fucking bastard," he murmured against my lips once we pulled apart. I laughed before kissing him one more time. It really was perfect.

My hand slid down his neck, down his arm, and caught his wrist. As I lifted his arm, both of us opened our eyes. I kissed the bandage over his cut, and put his hand over my heart, "Maybe I'm a total fucking girl," I started, "But to be honest? I like you, Frank. I _need _you…" I breathed, "It's always been you." I then kissed his forehead, and hugged him. His arms immediately encircled my back and gripped my shirt like he was holding on for dear life. He pulled himself as close as he could get, and buried his face in the crook of my neck, while my fingers ran aimlessly across his face and neck and through his hair.

I don't know how long we stood there, but I couldn't give less of a fuck if I tried. Because it _was_ him. I realized in that electrifying, amazing, heart-stopping kiss, that it's always been him.

It always will be, and I'll always be in love with him.


	7. The (Shipped) Gold Standard

Battle of the Bands—The (Shipped) Gold Standard

When Ray _finally_ came back to Frank's house—guiltily having taken an extra hour and a half to get back—he wasn't exactly sure _what _he was planning on seeing, but it sure as fuck wasn't what he walked in on.

"Whoa!" Ray exclaimed holding his hands in front of his eyes, "Okay, then. What the fuck happened when I was gone?"

Frank yawned, "Hm? Oh, hey." He flashed a small grin and sat up before punching Gerard in the stomach. He jerked awake with a 'fuck!' and rolled over. Frank and Gerard had been sleeping on Frank's bed; both completely clothed, Frank on his stomach, Gerard on his back, neither of them touching, but the backs of their hands brushing together slightly.

Gerard rubbed his stomach, shooting Frank a glare as Frank giggled, "The fuck is wrong with you?" Gerard asked upon noting Ray's stance. Slowly Ray moved his hands from his eyes and his expression melted from that of horror to embarrassment.

"Er," he hesitated, "I wasn't positive on what I was seeing. I opened the door and I see you guys on the bed; that was enough for me."

"Nice to see you don't jump to conclusions," Frank said sarcastically as he climbed over Gerard and stumbled to his feet. Gerard followed suit and stretched a bit before emitting a small yawn.

"Aw," Ray said, putting his hands on his hips, "Ain't that just the cutest thing you've ever seen, Frank?" He turned to Frank with a huge smile on his face.

"Fuck off," Frank mumbled before grabbing Gerard's hand, pushed past Ray and heading downstairs. Ray followed them with a stupid smirk plastered across his face; Gerard wanted to punch that expression right off his stupid fucking face.

"Oh, someone's not happy this morning," Ray snickered.

"It's not fucking morning anymore, moron." Gerard said as Frank pushed him onto the couch and flopped down next to him, their arms barely brushing. Frank flexed his hand, unconsciously, wondering why it felt strange and empty suddenly.

"For fuck's sake," Ray sighed shaking his head. He walked up to them, pushed them closer together and forced Frank and Gerard's hands together. He stepped back to admire his handiwork, "There," he said decisively, "Now you two look like…whatever the fuck you're supposed to be." Then he disappeared, only to reappear seconds later with a bag in his hand and a grimace on his face.

_Meds. _

Frank groaned and buried his face into Gerard's shoulder. "I don't wanna," came a muffled whine. Ray gave a small sad smile to Gerard who looked like he was in physical pain. It was way too hard for him to deal with all of this; finally being at peace with Frank, but still realizing that he shouldn't get attached because of…future possibilities. It was a constant internal debate, actually. Should he listen to logic, or just give in to reason?

They'd just have to wait and see, but for now he'd just act as if nothing was wrong.

"C'mon, Frank!" Gerard said softly, poking Frank in the ribs. Frank just lazily batted his hand away and groaned, but reluctantly turned to Ray holding his right hand out.

"Get it over with." He muttered with a look of grudging anguish. Ray beamed at Gerard—Gerard didn't exactly know why—and sat down on the ground in front of them. He opened the bag and looked inside.

"This the same as three years ago?" He asked rummaging through the bag, pushing bottles aside.

"Essentially." Frank replied, shrugging, still holding his hand out. Eventually Ray just dumped the contents of the bag on the ground and looked at it. Gerard's eyes widened at the number of bottles, syringes, IV's and medical tape that was sitting before him. But, mainly, it was the needles.

"I'll just guess," Ray said, nodding, "It'll be like a game." He picked a random bottle off the ground, opened it, and placed two red pills in Frank's hand. He moved onto the next bottle, and the next, and the next, until Frank finally had two red pills, three blue ones, one giant white one, and four tiny yellow ones in his hand.

Ray gave him a water bottle that was sitting off to the side and Frank swallowed all of them in one go. Ray shuttered at the thought of swallowing pills, while Gerard's mind was on something slightly different; if Frank could swallow ALL of those pills…what else could fit down his throat?

_Shit_. And cue boner in three…two…one…

"Time for shots!" Ray cried, throwing his hands up and smiling at the two sitting in front of him. Oh, good! Gerard hated needles almost as much as he hated getting a hard on right in front of his friend, and his possible boyfriend. Gerard was petrified as he sat in his seat and stared at Ray pulling a long thin needle from a plastic package.

The very second Gerard's eyes landed on that metal, he suddenly found that he could move again, "I very suddenly, and conveniently, have to go to the bathroom right now…" he blurted out in a rush. Ray and Frank barely heard an, "Excuse me," as Gerard fucking _ran _to the bathroom.

XxXxXxXxX

_I think you'd love him. He's near perfect and he's different, y'know? Just like us. I mean, he loves everything we do; comics, video games, music, pizza—but his is kinda weird if you ask me—and art…okay the art thing is mainly for me, but still! But you haven't met him yet, so how could you know?! Ha…you haven't met him yet…_

_See, the thing is, I need you to come home. And I mean, like, _now_. Because I can't keep dealing with life like this, okay? I miss having you to tease, and to call me names, and make fun of me for having no friends. Like, okay, who the fuck am I supposed to have Monster-Movie-Marathon-Friday's with? I mean…I guess I could find someone else—but not to replace you! Never to replace you…just to keep me company, right? Just until you get back. And I know you'll come back…you have to. Otherwise? I don't know what I'd do with myself. So do me a favor, okay? _

_Come home._

XxXxXxXxX

It took a lot of convincing—mainly on Gerard's part—to get him to come out of the bathroom. He'd been in there for twenty minutes, and Frank had started to get a bit worried. He and Ray tried to talk Gerard out of staying in there, but his reserve to stay was stronger than his urge to leave; for two main reasons, that is. The first is: how the fuck was he supposed to keep conscious if he passed out at the sight of a needle? The second is: holy fucking tit fuck goddamn the entire world—he was a fucking horny teenager…and with what he was thinking about he was going to hell. He kept telling himself that he just needed to keep his mind on dead puppies, or all of the homework he wasn't doing, and the problem in his pants would simply disappear.

However, that didn't exactly work; after dead puppies, he imagined Frank getting him another one…one thing lead to another aaaaaand there was the image of clothes on his bedroom floor. The 'do'-your-homework scenario seemed self-explanatory…

Eventually he found something that saved his mind; he simply imagined Ray being in the room—which he actually was—and he instantly felt better.

"Sorry," Gerard muttered under his breath when he came back into the living room. Ray and Frank looked up at him from their position on the ground. There was a box of cold pizza between them, and they were playing Zombie Apocalypse: Never Die Alone. Frank shrugged before turning back to the game.

"'S okay, man," Ray told him, "Some people just really don't like pointy things…" the tone of his voice implied that he had seen the real reason Gerard went to the bathroom. His eyes widened and Ray smirked at him and waggled his eyebrows.

"Boo-yah!" Frank exclaimed throwing his hands up as the screen displayed the words 'Ray: 0. Frank: 3.' Frank jumped on Ray as Ray reached for his controller and tried to play the game from on top of Ray's back. It took everything in Gerard not to start bursting out laughing, and he just quietly took a place on the couch away from the two wrestling boys.

_Damn_, Gerard thought, _how lucky are you? Frank is the boy who you never knew lived next door and Ray is the best friend you never knew you wanted. It's funny how people do that—and by funny I mean fucking horrible oh my _God _I'm going to die alone._ Gerard was pulled out of his thoughts by a squealing Frank and a laughing Ray. Gerard looked at them only to see Frank squirming on his stomach, hands behind his back, and Ray sitting on him eating pizza.

"Want some?" He offered the box to Gerard. He just laughed and took the box; it was pepperoni. Gerard's favorite was cheese. Close enough. When Frank finally managed to shove Ray off of him, he opened another box of pizza that Gerard just now noticed was sitting right in front of him. It was cheese, with onions, green peppers, and…

"Er," Gerard hesitated, "What's that?" It was pieces of something small and square and kinda looked like…well, like _blah_.

"What, this?" Frank asked taking a huge bite of the pizza. Gerard grimaced, but nodded. "Tofu," Frank said taking another bite, "I don't eat anything with a face on it." Frank knew that if his mother were home, she'd be yelling at him for talking with his mouth full and for not cleaning himself up before having guests over. But his mom _wasn't _there. And she wouldn't be there for another four hours—at least—so they had time to kill before Frank had to make the house look like he'd done something productive. (He was _supposed _to be doing algebra and biology…but who needs to know that stuff anyways, right?)

"I gotta go take a shower." Frank announced, patting his stomach, after finishing off three times the amount of pizza that Gerard could eat, which was three pieces. Frank got up and gestured to the TV, gaming system, and stacks of CD's and movies, "So, uh, entertain yourselves."

Oh God…no. The _last _thing Gerard wanted was to be left alone with Ray, because Ray might try and _say something to him. _That was just not acceptable. But what was he going to do? Protest? Leave? Hide in Frank's bedroom?

He had to put on the big-boy pants and face the music.

"Oh, I'm sure we'll find something to do, right Gerard?" Ray flashed him a wicked smile, which got a glare in response. Gerard then turned to Frank who only gave him an apologetic look and trudged up the stairs.

"So," Ray said, once Frank was out of ear-shot, "Let's talk boys."

XxXxXxXxX

_No, I mean, fuck yeah I'd _totally_ marry him…and fuck him—not exactly in that order though. Wait…this is probably awkward for me to tell you considering the circumstances and everything. But, y'know, I don't really mind. I'm sure you might but you probably won't remember any of this. I may not even be here when you come back…_

_But I don't want to think about that. It's sad and depressing and everything that I don't want to talk about. So what was I saying? Oh yeah! Okay, I'll just skip over the part where I talk about how fucking _beautiful_ he is—for your sake…_

_Ugh, fuck this. All I keep thinking about is the future…I don't have one of those, okay? You do. Well, probably. I'm going to guess that you do. No! That's wrong. I'm going to _demand_ that you _do_ have a future. I'll be there to see it, okay? You may not know I'm there, but I'll be there nonetheless. _

_Okay, I just need to stop this now…it's not okay. I'm so sorry, but I have to go. This was a nice talk, okay? Come home soon?_

XxXxXxXxX

It was an extremely long, extremely awkward conversation, but Gerard managed to keep his composure. In fact, he even found himself becoming comfortable with the situation as the time progressed. Of course he would have rather been with Frank, but that was completely beside the point; Ray was a good substitute.

It started out as a conversation that was simply meant to bother Gerard about Frank and make fun of him for having a crush. It quickly developed into a conversation full of laughing—from both of them—and Ray actually giving him the big brother 'If-you-hurt-Frank-I-will-personally-cut-off-your-balls-and-serve-them-to-you-with-a-side-of—dog-shit' talk.

"No," Gerard said, still smiling from a previous laughing fit, "I understand. I'd probably help you." It was the honest-to-God truth, too. Gerard wouldn't be able to live with himself if he hurt Frank again, because really, what had that kid ever done to deserve this kind of life?

"Good." Ray said, sitting back in the recliner next to the couch, obviously looking pleased. "I'm glad to see we're on the same page here." It was then that they heard the water upstairs turn off, signifying the end of Frank's shower. Gerard figured it would take, maybe, ten minutes for Frank to come downstairs, which was just enough time to talk to Ray about something very important.

"Okay, listen," Gerard said, becoming uncomfortable again, "I don't know a lot about Frank. I mean, I know his name and that he has cancer. And that his favorite colour is either red on Sundays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, or black on Saturdays, Mondays, and Fridays. Green is Tuesday. And that he plays guitar, and has some weird obsession with Halloween and…" Gerard trailed off, his brows furrowing in a contemplative way. When he looked up again, Ray's eyebrows were raised, expectantly. "Okay, I lied. I know a lot about him." Ray just smiled. "But don't you know what I mean? Like, I know his personality…but I don't know—"

"Birthday, family, childhood, hopes, dreams, etcetera." Ray waved his hand in a grand gesture to signify the amazingly long list of things that Gerard wanted to know about Frank.

"Basically," Gerard mumbled, feeling slightly embarrassed.

"Just ask him about it, Gee. I'm not going to tell you _anything_. I cannot tell you how many times I've been bitched out for telling someone something they wanted to know about Frank. He always says…"

"If you have a question, you should probably either keep it to yourself, or get the answer directly from the source." Frank's voice scared the shit out of both Ray and Gerard as he jumped onto the couch from behind, falling so that his feet were near Gerard's head. "Holy fuck!" Gerard gasped, clutching his chest, his dark eyes practically bulging out of his head.

"Fucking can't be Holy, Gerard." Frank giggled, turning himself right-side-up so that he was sprawled with his legs across Gerard's lap and he was lounging, lazily, on the arm of the chair. "I think that defeats the purpose of 'fucking'. Nobody wants to think of Jesus when they're doing the sideways hokey-pokey."

Gerard mumbled something incoherent, and crossed his arms over his chest in a huff. Frank giggled again and tried to stroke Gerard's face with his foot, which failed miserably. Ray took that as his cue to leave, and did exactly that.

"I'll be…back." Ray said, grabbing his keys and putting his shoes on. "Eventually." He added before leaving and closing the door firmly behind him.

"So," Frank said lifting his head to look at Gerard with mischievous eyes. "Alone at last." And with an extremely frightful giggle, he launched into the strangest conversation of Gerard's life…ever.

XxXxXxXxX

_Things are getting complicated around here. I don't…I don't know who else to talk to except for you. I mean, you can't exactly respond, but you're still better than nothing. A few days ago at school, Ray introduced me to these two guys; Bob and Patrick. They're in band, so they're losers like me (and I mean that in the nicest way possible). But Bob's so quiet and always has this really serious expression on his face. It's kinda scary… and Patrick is really shy but he's _definitely _not quiet._

_I think Patrick's gay._

_Anyway, they introduced me to some of their other friends and now—not to brag or anything—I have a shockingly large amount of friends. There's Pete; he plays the bass, just like you, and he's crazy as fuck. And there's Andy and Joe; I think they're together…I wouldn't be surprised. There's also Gabe and his friends, Nate, Alex, Ryland, and Victoria—yeah I'm friends with a girl! Weird, right? Yeah, I thought so too. _

_Oh, and then there's the kids in your grade who are actually in _a band_ rather than being _inband_; Brendon, Ryan, Spencer, and Trohman—we call him by his last name because we already have a Joe. Oh God, and then there are the kids who aren't my friends but call me by my first name: Will Beckett, Travis, Joey Thunder (that's his actual name…no seriously that's his name…), Jimmy Urine (and that's _his _actual name too), Ed, and there are twenty other people but I don't really remember their names…oops. _

_Long story short: I need you to come around, okay? You need to meet all of the FRIENDS THAT I FINALLY HAVE BECAUSE FOR SOME REASON PEOPLE DON'T HATE ME. They wouldn't hate you either…_

XxXxXxXxX

"T-That's…what? No…_no! _I don't—" It is incredibly awkward to hold a conversation like the one I'm currently having right now. Okay, maybe not _awkward_, but it's very difficult. Fortunately for me, Frank seems _extremely _comfortable making me squirm. Unfortunately for me, _Frank seems _extremely _comfortable making me squirm_. I mean like, come on! Give a guy a goddamned break!

"So Christian Bale's _Batman _beats Adam West ten to one, right?" Frank questioned cocking an eyebrow at me. I really didn't know how to reply; Mikey _loved _Adam West as Batman…and even though I thought it was a fucking pitiful performance and I feel ashamed to be his brother I still have to side with my fucking _brother_. Then again, Frank could be pretty intimidating for such a small dude.

"Er, I guess…?" I replied looking down at my hands in my lap. I wasn't really sure how he'd react to that; he was completely different than I'd thought—in terms of volume, power, attitude, and personality. And, pardon my sexuality, it was absolutely beautiful.

"'I _guess_'?!" Frank exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "Not good enough, Gerard!" He shook his head in—hopefully mock—disappointment. "Venom or Deadpool?" He suddenly blurted out, cocking his head to the side, letting his hair fall in his eyes slightly.

Oh _sigh_. Ugh, those eyes! They were amazing. They were fucking _huge_. Those eyes could smother you—no, _drown you_—in the depths of their sorrow, but save you with their bouts of kindness. They held something I couldn't quite explain, but I'd seen many times before; it was on the tip of my tongue, but I just couldn't think of it.

"Gerard?" I shook myself out of my trance only to realize that he'd asked me a question. But…I didn't remember it. Did it have something to do with superheroes? _Shit_. If I don't answer he's going to know I wasn't paying attention and was just blatantly _staring at him_.

"Uh…" Frank smiled knowingly, and waggled his eyebrows at me smugly.

Oh fuck.

"Ca—can you repeat. Can you repeat the question?" I smiled shyly and looked away, feeling my face turn the colour of a tomato. I heard shuffling and I knew Frank was shifting his position from cross-legged across from me on the ground. I knew I didn't want to look at him, I really didn't. But have your eyes ever just betrayed you to the point of no return, and you're forced to look at someone for however long until one of you breaks eye contact?

I turned to look at him, and froze, "I—"


	8. Intermission

Battle of the Bands—Intermission

"Oh. My. God." The voice was so shocked, and so loud, and so suddenly clear that it was almost too much to handle. It was bright; way too bright. There was the feeling of wanting to throw up all of the nothing that had been consumed. It was the most horrible sickness anyone could feel.

"Hey! Hey!" Somewhere in the background a familiar voice was yelling to someone far away. Nurses and doctors rushed into the room, surrounding the bed and poking at the body. They wanted to be certain of the condition of the patient before assigning the next step to recovery.

Naturally the patient could barely move; it'd been, what, a year and a few months? The organs are just now fully awake, the muscles moving out of involuntary reflexes, blood pumping to every extremity of the body. It's like being a baby all over again.

"Are you okay?

"Can you hear me?"

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"What are you feeling?"

"Do you feel lightheaded?"

The questions were so rapid-fire that there was barely a time to answer. So he didn't. And for a while the doctors started to worry if he'd forgotten how to speak, but really he was just annoyed as fuck.

"I just fucking woke up. I don't know how long it's been, but honestly nothing about my morning disposition has changed. Give me ten minutes, and then come talk to me." The words sounded groggy, and hoarse, but the doctors were completely taken aback; never has a patient had so much clarity after waking up from a coma.

"Certainly." One of the nurses said, taking her exit. The others followed her example, as the patient glared at them—as best as he could, that is—and when they all cleared, there was one person left, sitting in a chair on the far side of the room.  
And he was crying.

"Gee?" His head snapped up at the sound of his name; his eyes were red, and his cheeks were tear-stained. Gerard didn't cry. It was just a known fact.

"Mikes." Gerard stood up as carefully as possible as if moving too fast would pop his dream-bubble. He walked over and sat on the bed, staring down at his brother in wonder.

"Are you okay?" Mikey asked, his fingers twitching slightly. He had been trying to move his hand, but apparently motor skills weren't on the 'To-Do' list yet.

Gerard let out a laugh; it was harsh on Mikey's ears but he didn't mind. "You're asking me if I'm okay?" He shook his head. "Doesn't that seem a little backwards to you?"

"Only if you're not okay." Mikey's voice was quiet, and reserved, and nearly back to normal. In no time he'd acquire his monotone voice but in the meantime he could just deal with a slight quiver of emotion.

"Trust me. I'm not." Gerard said honestly. He couldn't lie to Mikey even if he wanted to. Even though the boy had been out of it for the last year. It was just impossible to lie.

"I appreciate your honesty."

Gerard snorted, "It's not like you couldn't tell."

"But I like when you tell me anyway." He paused, looking around the room through half-lidded eyes, "I like how you tell me even when we both know…" he trailed off when he met Gerard's eyes. The pure raw pain behind the façade he was showing was almost too much for Mikey to handle.

Almost.

"Tell me about it."

"No, no." Gerard shook his head and grabbed both of Mikey's hands, squeezing them lightly. "Tell me about…well, y'know."

"Ha, what can I say?" Mikey was just marveling at how nice he felt to be touching another human being.

"I heard that usually people in a coma can hear everything going on, and that they sometimes dream about it." Gerard's brows furrowed, "Not that I would expect you to remember a dream you had months ago."

XxXxXxXxX

_Then everything went black._

XxXxXxXxX

"Gerard? Gerard? Hello, Gerard!" The voice was persistent…and lovely if I do say so myself. "Earth. To. Gerard!" I was just barely aware of the pressure against my body from my legs up to my chest, and of the breath against my face. I wanted to open my eyes, but at the same time I couldn't make myself do it. I was still half unconscious for some reason and nothing I did could shake me out of—

"Up and at 'em!"

"Oh fucking shit!" I exclaimed as a sharp stinging sensation assaulted my face. I suddenly found it within myself to be able to move again and when my eyes flew open I nearly passed out. Frank was lying on top of me, gripping my shoulders tight enough to leave bruises, and looking down at me with a very concerned look in his wide, but very beautiful, eyes. Something told me that this kid didn't know much about personal space (not that I was complaining or anything).

"Did you just slap me?" I murmured as my brows knit together. Frank just gave me a huge smile—teeth and all—and nodded vigorously. I rolled my eyes and tried to concentrate on what the fuck just happened.

"You passed out," Frank said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice as his eyes went wide again, and he tilted his head to one side. I closed my eyes and groaned, rubbing my hands over my face and sighing deeply.

"Oh my _God _you're so fucking adorable just _get out_, ugh!" The words came out a bit mumbled because my hands were still over my face, but I'm sure he understood them considering that he just giggled. He nuzzled his nose between my hands kissed me. I ignored the sickeningly sweet back flip that my stomach performed, but I _did _uncover my face and run my hands down his sides, fully enjoying the shiver I got in response.

"I don't think you understand how happy I am that I can do that whenever I want," Frank mumbled against my lips and smiling widely. I don't think he knew how happy that made me too, but I never got a chance to tell him because that's when I realized: I had just passed the fuck out…like... _what_?

"But seriously, Frank," I said with a frown, "what just happened?"

"I don't know," he shrugged and rolled off of me. "You just passed out."

It seemed highly unlikely that I just _passed out_…there had to be something to this; let me think. I started to recall what had happened before everything went black, but I didn't have much luck. I _do _remember that it was a fucking weird conversation, though. I only remembered parts of the conversation, but from what I _did_ remember? Well those few blurbs of moments went like this:

"No, you only put Pop-Tarts in the freezer if it's in the spring time."

…

"I really love Doom Patrol. There's no way you can love it more than me…because I love it more than anyone."

…

"I don't know the last time I saw that chick milk a cow."

…

"If he's a superhero, why the fuck does he need a car?"

…

"No, seriously…like, doesn't he fly and shit?"

…

"Oh my God, Gerard, Batman can't actually _fly_."

…

"I don't know, they never explained that in Sex Ed!"

…

"I AM THOR!"

…

"I probably would have thrown him back to Asgard, tied to a shark fused with a nuclear bomb. But that's just me."

…

"It's legit, okay? It's not like I draw on myself."

…

"You should get a tattoo!"

…

"Are you seriously that afraid of needles?"

…

"Gerard, I'm _sorry_. Just please come out of the bathroom!"

…

"Venom or Deadpool?" Oh yeah! Now I remember how it all went down. Well, I couldn't actually remember the exact events that led up to me fainting, but I _did _remember why I might have. I was shamelessly ogling at Frank when I suddenly realized that I'd been asked a question. Instead of admitting that I simply wasn't paying attention because Frank is so fucking sexy that it's hard to think sometimes, I passed out.

_Damn that's smooth, Gerard_.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Frank's voice shook me out of my trance. I glanced over at him; he'd rolled onto his side, his arm tucked under his head, and he was absently picking at the loose thread on the hood of my sweatshirt. For some reason, in that one second of looking at him, it was like I was seeing him for the first time. The first time I met him, all I remembered was how worried I was about Mikey. I really wanted him to be okay, but my thoughts were taken hostage by the most beautiful human being to ever exist…ever. Back then I never would have thought that I'd be…I don't know what I am right now, but I certainly didn't imagine it back then. Of course it was something that I'd dreamed about, but it was just that: a dream.

When I didn't answer, Frank looked at me—with those incredibly huge heart-stopping eyes—and smiled slightly. I felt all of the air in my lungs suddenly cease to exist, and all I could do was smile back.

XxXxXxXxX

"I was staring at you," he said after a moment. "I was staring, and I completely forgot to breathe, and that's probably why I passed out." His voice was so soft that I almost couldn't make out what he was saying. I felt my face get hot, and looked away quickly, hoping he hadn't noticed; wow that thread on his sweatshirt is really fucking interesting. I tried to clamp down the giant smile and girlish giggle that was quickly making its way to the surface.

"Oh my God are you actually _blushing_?!" He asked with a laugh of disbelief. I was hoping that I could reply without smiling, but naturally, I had no such luck. "Shut up," I said, feeling my mouth betray me.

He just laughed again, "You're incredible." And I don't think I'd ever felt so giddy over something like this. I mean…was I in love? And if I am, when did it happen? We really didn't know each other very long. Okay that's a damn lie and I knew it, but statistics _do _say that if you've had a crush on someone longer than four months, then you are technically in love with them. I had known Gerard for about 14 months and I easily liked him for…well…all of them?

"Gerard?" I asked quietly, still focusing on his sweatshirt.

"Hm?" He asked. I could feel his eyes on me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him without wanting to die because _oh my fucking God he is so fucking gorgeous it's not even fair, Jesus just kill me now_.

"Will you promise me something?" Oh shit, I don't know if I can handle this.

"Anything, Frank," he said seriously. "Anything."

"Promise you won't leave me?" And Gerard stopped. I mean, not like he was moving very much in the first place, but he just stopped. He stopped breathing, moving, blinking. He stopped _everything_.

"Why?" He asked. That's when I did look at him; I was completely stunned at how harsh that answer could have been. When he saw the hurt in my eyes he shook his head quickly, "No, that's—I didn't mean it—I just want…" Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. When he opened them, he pushed himself into a sitting position and I followed suit, suddenly finding it completely awkward to be lying down when he wasn't.

"Frank," he started, and I wanted to vomit; every time I'd heard someone start with '_Frank_' and use that tone of voice, I had received some really bad news. Bad news as in, '_Frank…your father and I are getting a divorce_.' Bad news as in, '_Frank…you have to have another surgery_.' Bad news as in, '_Frank…you have _[fucking] _cancer._'

"Frank," he said again, but this time he was looking at me. "I didn't mean it like that, okay? I just…I know I hurt you, and I'll never forgive myself for that. _Ever_. But I need you to know; I wouldn't ever, in a million years, leave you." And I don't know why—I still don't know why—but that was when I started to cry, and that really kinda made me mad because I totally thought I was over crying over him. I mean, shouldn't I be _happy _now? Guess not.

Or maybe these were tears of happiness? Maybe I was overwhelmed by the fact that this is the first time in years where I felt happy, and I just couldn't handle it. I barely noticed when Gerard wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into his lap, but I instinctively wrapped my arms around him and nuzzled my face into his neck.

"Sorry that I'm crying all over you like some nasty motherfucker," I sniffed. He just laughed quietly, smoothed down my hair, and kissed the top of my head.

"Hey," he said, "you can cry all over me any day, just as long as I get to hug you while you're doing it."

"You're so cheesy."

"Sorry?" He sounded genuinely cautious, and I thought it was so adorable. _Ugh, I can't even handle myself right now_. I buried my face farther into the crook of his neck and sighed.

"No," I said as I situated myself more comfortably, "I like it."


	9. Sleep

Battle of the Bands—Sleep

They spent the next hour or so just…talking.

"Whoa!" Gerard said, pulling back to look at Frank, "Your birthday's _on_ _Halloween_? No fucking wonder you're so obsessed with the goddamned holiday!" He laughed, but Frank just stared at him. It wasn't a _good _stare, but he wasn't angry either. Deep in thought would be the best way to describe it; Frank was deep in thought.

"That's next week," Frank said softly, touching Gerard's chest just because he could—he could touch and hug and even motherfucking _kiss _this slightly flawed, flawless human being. He could do it just because he wanted to; just because he could. Gerard relaxed under Frank's hand and let his head fall back onto the couch, staring up at the ceiling.

"I know," Gerard sighed. "Next week you're going to be sixteen, and I will still be seventeen and in six months…I will be eighteen, and six months after that you will be seventeen and I'll be eighteen and then I'll turn nineteen and _then _you'll turn eighteen." Gerard was rambling. He knew it, Frank knew it, and if Ray were here he'd never hear the end of it. However, he _was _making a point.

"Well," Frank said, brushing his fingers across Gerard's neck, fully enjoying the shiver it got him in response. "In two years, a week from now, you'll probably stop talking, and then I can laugh at you for how you worried for two fucking years for no reason." _If I live that long_, Frank thought, but didn't add.

"So then we're both aware of _why _I'm worrying?" Gerard asked, turning his head to look at Frank, and raising one eyebrow. Frank smiled and leaned forwards, pressing his lips to the hollow at the base of Gerard's neck. Gerard inhaled sharply, his entire body tensing and his hand instinctively entwining itself in Frank's hair. Frank grinned against Gerard's skin and inhaled deeply, just breathing in the most fantastic scent to ever have existed.

"Mhmm," the word buzzed against Gerard's skin and Gerard could feel his entire body vibrating. He was running his fingers through Frank's hair—which always felt like silk, and Gerard didn't know _why_—when suddenly he stilled. He bit his bottom lip and his eyes were worried when Frank looked at him; uh oh. Frank may not have known Gerard that long, but he knew him well enough to tell when something serious was on his mind.

In fact, he knew Gerard well enough to know exactly what was on his mind.

"Frank," Gerard started in that tone that made Frank want to throw up everywhere. Seeing the look on Frank's face, Gerard quickly wrapped his arms around Frank's back and kiss the top of his head. "No, don't…just hear me out okay?" He murmured against Frank's hair. He felt Frank nod silently and continued talking. "I just think we should talk about it. Just because we need to get it out of the way."

"There's nothing to talk about," Frank mumbled into Gerard's sweatshirt.

Gerard sighed, "But I just need to—I need to just say it, okay? Or hear you say it, or at least acknowledge that it could fucking happen any day now." Frank didn't say anything. He just sat there and breathed, and didn't feel the urge to cry, and didn't feel the urge to yell.

"I've had health problems since the day I was born." He said quietly, and if Gerard couldn't hear him, he didn't say anything. "I've had cancer since I was, like, ten. It's been bad, and it's been okay. A few times they even thought I was out of the woods, but they were wrong." He wasn't trying to freak Gerard out; he was just trying to make a point. "All I'm trying to say is that I could have died any day for the past fifteen years, and I didn't. I could die tomorrow or ten years from now, or even when I'm fucking eighty…but there is no way to be certain." He pushed himself off Gerard's chest and looked him straight in the eye.

"You could die tomorrow too, you know," then he smiled, "Don't worry about me. Don't worry about the little things. A lot of good things could happen in the future too. I could get better; I could…grow old and die when I'm supposed to. Mikey could wake up tomorrow for all you know." And Frank was right. All of those things _could _happen, but none of them were guaranteed. He was just too busy thinking about Frank saying those ten words that cut him like a knife.

_Don't worry about me. Don't worry about the little things_. How on earth could Frank think that Gerard wouldn't worry about him? What made him think he wasn't important? Him being one of the billions of people on earth didn't make him unimportant. It made him _that much more _important; he was too important for it to even be sane. And then Gerard remembered something he'd done the night he'd met Frank; the amazingly beautiful stranger who promised to watch over his brother until he got better. He remembered…

"Hold on," he shifted his position, moving Frank to the floor and quick kissing the top of his head before darting up the stairs. In the hall he rummaged around on the floor, looking through his stuff until he found what he was looking for, grabbed it and ran back down the stairs. He slid onto the couch, seeing that Frank had moved to the couch as well, his knees drawn into his chest, eyes wide and almost sad. Gerard just felt something inside his heart break.

"Frank," Gerard asked, clutching the notebook to his chest so hard that his knuckles turned white. Frank looked up, his eyes becoming interested but his face staying blank—_ugh, God just stop being so fucking adorable all the goddamned time_! "Before I read this…well, before I _sing _this," that seemed to catch his attention, his eyes lighting up and a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"Before I sing this, I just…" he let out a breath, and squeezed his eyes shut. "I know that we've already gotten past the whole 'Gerard is a major asshole' thing, but I have to say it again. I just…I have to." He opened his eyes and when he looked at Frank, Frank was staring back with a concerned look on his face. Tentatively, Gerard reached out and pushed the hair out of his eyes, letting his hand cup Frank's face. Frank closed his eyes and leaned into the touch; Gerard smiled. "I like you, Frank…" Gerard said quietly. "I'll always like you. I've always liked you, and maybe I'm a total girl, but it will always just be _you_."

Frank opened his eyes and broke into a shit-eating grin, "You are." He said, laughing slightly. "A girl I mean," and he laughed again as Gerard rolled his eyes, but didn't protest when he leaned in for a kiss. "I like you too. Like, lik_ed_, forever, blah, blah. Yeah me too," he mumbled against Gerard's lips, never wanting to break away. However, he was quite curious as to what Gerard was going to _sing _to him. (And really fucking nervous for some reason).

"I wrote this, well, I _started _to write this the night that it happened," and that was the second that Frank started to take this really seriously; if Gerard was going to talk about the night his brother almost died, then Frank should respect his emotions. "I just started to think about everything and everyone…Mikey, me, you, that asshole driving the car…" Gerard's voice trailed off and he looked away, almost feeling ashamed.

"It's okay," Frank said, and he didn't know _what _was okay, or why he even said that but it was comforting to hear and comforting to say. Gerard opened the notebook and flipped to the last page.

"I know you got a chance to look in here, but—"

"I didn't get through everything," Frank smiled fondly, "I was too busy staring at those motherfucking pictures of Mikey, holy shit I'm jealous. I wish I could draw like that." Gerard's lips twitched, wanting to smile, but not fully getting there.

"Well, that's good," Gerard said, still not looking at Frank. "So…uh, yeah…" he cleared his throat before starting to sing one of the most beautiful and haunting things Frank had ever heard in his entire almost 16 years of existing.

"_Some say, now suffer all the children, and walk away a savior. Or a madman and polluted from gutter institutions; don't you breathe for me. Undeserving of your sympathy, cause there ain't no way that I'm sorry for what I did._" Frank's brows furrowed in concern; this song was deep. It meant a lot to Gerard, so that meant it meant just that much more to Frank.

"_And through it all, how could you cry for me? Cause I don't feel bad about it. So shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye, and sleep. Just sleep; the hardest part is letting go of your dreams_." Frank—who was sitting sideways, facing Gerard—shifted closer, getting as close to him as possible, basically pushing his knee so that it was trapped between the couch and Gerard's back, clinging onto his arm, and burying his face in Gerard's shoulder.

"_A drink for horror that I'm in. For the good guys and the bad guys; for the monsters that I've been! Three cheers for tyranny—unapologetic apathy, cause there ain't no way that I'm coming back again_." Frank inhaled, doing a tiny victory dance in his head when Gerard shuddered and leaned into him.

"_And through it all, how could you cry for me? Cause I don't feel bad about it. So shut your eyes, kiss me goodbye, and sleep. Just sleep; the hardest part's the awful things that I've seen_."


	10. I'd Rather Make Mistakes

Battle of the Bands – I'd Rather Make Mistakes Than Nothing At All

It's been five days. Five days that this has been going on, and I couldn't be more frustrated or excited in my entire life. First of all, I'm not fucking made of glass! I have _cancer_, not narcolepsy or that weird disease that keeps you from feeling pain. I can tell when things are getting to be too much for me; I don't really need anyone else telling me, thank you very much! Secondly, I'm not too happy with the fact that Gerard is basically my mother's twin. Seriously. They both worry about the same exact things, and it's really fucking annoying. All I hear them talk about it how worried they are about me. If things were getting worse, I think they'd notice.

Oh, I guess that's one of the things I'm excited about. I'm getting better. No, I'm not kidding. Not even a little. I'm actually _getting better_ and I haven't gone to chemo in a while. I haven't gone back to living at the hospital, but I basically do anyways with all the time that I spend with Mikey (yeah, I've gotten accustomed to calling him that. Now it feels almost weird _not _to call him Mikey since Gerard and I talk about him so often).

I also don't think I can really complain about the relationship I have with Gerard. I don't actually know what it is that we have, but I wouldn't change it for the world. Every single day after school, he comes to the hospital to pick me up. We spend a few hours with Mikey and then he drives me home. We hang out for hours, and sometimes he even spends the night (which I seriously cannot get over). We cuddle, and kiss, and it's basically fucking perfect. Which means shit's about to get real, right?

Hmm. I'm actually not so sure. I'm pretty pessimistic, but I don't think I've ever looked at someone the way I look at Gerard. I'm not about to give that up. We're not technically "dating", but who's to say that it's just an unspoken thing? Maybe we just kinda assume we're together? I'm not sure, but I'm not complaining. In the beginning, Gerard would shut me out a little, and I'd do the same to him (in fact I think I'm definitely the more secretive and stubborn one between the two of us), and it became really annoying. Just yesterday he told me something that shocked me to the point of no return.

We were watching _Frankenstein_, and he turns to me and looks at me as if he's calculating something. I don't notice at first, but when I finally do, I get nervous. I'm not really used to being so close with someone, but something about Gerard feels like home. Something about him feels like I should be eternally grateful that I have him, and I am, but that doesn't mean I'm completely comfortable with him. He feels too good to be true, and that's exactly what I'm afraid of. Anyway, I got off topic.

Gerard looks at me, and then I look at him, and something in his eyes change. They go from hard and confused to happy and "gross love struck" (as Ray so likes to call it) in a matter of negative 2 seconds. He touches the side of my face and brushes my hair out of the way. I can feel my face heat up—which, for some reason, I've been doing whenever he touches me so softly…so careful, but not in the sense where he feels like he might break me. More like where he's just so gentle and caring that all he wants to do is revel in the moment. Our moment.

He smiles at me and leans forward to kiss my forehead. I make a sound of content, and he pulls back.

"Frankie, I want to tell you something." And for the first time, I didn't feel sick. I didn't feel like all I was about to hear was bad news. What I felt was…it was indescribable, really. The best word I can think of is excited. I was really fucking excited. I smiled at him and he continued. "I've been thinking about things lately, and I've come to a really difficult decision."

He was starting to make me uneasy, but not to the point where I couldn't handle it. However, I must have looked scared because he kissed my forehead again and said, "No, nothing bad. I think you might be proud."

I smirk, "Oh, really?"

"Definitely," he beams. "It's not something that I want to hang over us like a cloud of fucking doom and destruction. I need to get it out of the way for good because it's keeping me from loving you the way you deserve to be loved." I blushed again. I always do when he says things like that. I'm not used to people being around me, let alone actually _care _about me. Besides, I'm nothing special. I think I'm the lucky one. Gerard is amazing.

"You _are _special." Gerard can read my thoughts. I swear he can. "You're special to me, and anyone else who doesn't see how amazing you are can go fuck themselves. What I really wanted to tell you was that I'm not _okay _with the fact that my best friend and the love of my life could die any second of any day…but it doesn't worry me. Not anymore."

I lean forward and nuzzle my nose against his cheek. I whisper, "I'm so proud of you." And then I kiss him on the cheek. For him to admit this is a fucking _huge _deal. He doesn't like to admit to _anything_ that isn't in his best interest, and I figure that me dying isn't in his best interest. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew that we both knew that he would never stop worrying about it—I understand! I'd be the same way if I were him—but the fact that he'd said it…

Now back in the present, I was currently sitting on top of a very adorable, very angry Gerard. I'd told him he could come over and, er, hang out—and by "hang out" I mean kiss each other senseless—but that plan was deterred a bit when suddenly Ray showed up at the door. Gerard was not pleased, and Ray could sense the fact that he'd just cockblocked Gerard and me, but Ray is shameless.

Gerard had _begged _me to make him go away, but I insisted that Ray would only be there for a few hours and then he'd be on his way. Gerard wasn't too happy with that so he sat and sulked in silence while Ray and I shot at each other in COD: Modern Warfare. The entire time we were playing I kept telling Gerard that he should play with us but he only refused. When I'd gotten up to get a soda, I'd gotten a very good idea. I set down my soda and well…

"Frank get offa me!"

"No," I said. "Not until you apologize for being annoying."

"I wasn't being annoying! I didn't say anything!" This entire time, Ray is sitting there, observing us, and trying to keep himself from dying of laughter.

"Yeah, but then you sat there all moody and obnoxious. You could have been screaming the words to fucking _Call Me Maybe _and it wouldn't have been as annoying." Gerard stopped struggling, and lets his face fall to the floor.

"Well I'm _sorry _that the only thing I desperately want to do is touch yo—"

"Whoa, dude!" Ray exclaimed. "I totally saw where that was going, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't finish the sentence, please and thank you."

"Fuck you, Ray!" Gerard said, finally managing to throw me off his back. He sits up and looks at me. I smile innocently and then attack him again, but this time it was more of a 'Imma-Terrifying-Puppy-I-Will-Destroy-You-Unless-Y ou-Pet-Me' attack and less of a 'Stop-Being-An-Annoying-Douchebag' attack.

I sit in his lap and throw my arms around his waist, and he instinctively hugs me back. He looks down at me, and I do not like the look on his face; it just screams 'I-Will-Make-You-Regret-Everything'. Then he innocently says, "I think Frankie at least deserves to know what you're cockblocking."

I gulp and my eyes go wide. He leans down and whispers in my ear, "I was _going _to say that the only thing I desperately want to do is touch you, to taste you. Anywhere you want, as _hard_ as you want until you're screaming my name."

Never. Never before has Gerard said something as…sensual and erotic as this. I knew that we'd kept things kinda low (if we got too physical, we wouldn't be able to stop until we'd both turned to jelly), but I also knew Gerard was a horny teenage boy. I just wasn't expecting _that_, but that doesn't mean I don't appreciate it. In fact, I must have appreciated it a great deal because the next thing I know, I'm actually moaning out of want and desire, and my pants feel ten times tighter than they were when I put them on this morning.

"Dude. Ew." Ray shakes his head with an uneasy look on his face, "I don't want to know what he just said. Please keep it PG."

"Mmm," Gerard hummed in pleasure, and I didn't have to look at him to know he was smirking. "I'm sorry but we're for mature audiences only." My grip around his waist tightens and I sigh, leaning into his embrace.

"You two really are disgustingly perfect for each other."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment," I murmur. Gerard laughs and kisses the top of my head, then smoothing down my hair. He's still laughing when I feel his phone vibrate in his pocket, and sit up to let him answer. He pulls it out and frowns down at the number. He flips the phone open and holds it closely to his ear.

"Hello?" There's a pause. "Yes it is… Yeah, he is… Wait, what?!" His eyes are practically bulging out of his head and I can only think the worse. "Thank you for calling." He doesn't even hang up, he just lets the phone fall out of his hand and it lands on the ground with a soft thud. I don't pick it up to see who called. All I do is stare at him.

"Gerard?" I ask. He doesn't reply. He just sits there like a zombie, staring into space. I glance at Ray and he seems just as worried as me. I'm glad I'm not the only one. I reach out tentatively and move a stray piece of hair out of his eyes. He flinches, just enough for me to notice, and I withdraw my hand quickly.

"Gerard what's wrong?" But he won't answer me. I'm getting scared at how empty he seems, and I start to have a panic attack because that's when I realize… he's terrified of something. He's broken somehow, and I can't fix it. I can't make it better. I can't…

"Gee. Please." My voice breaks slightly, and it's obvious I'm about to cry. He immediately breaks out of his trance and looks at me for a second before grabbing me and hugging me tightly. I can feel the tears slowly roll down my face and get absorbed by his shirt, and that's when he knew shit got real. Gerard had promised me that he wouldn't make me cry. Never again. Not after what he did. Of course, this isn't his fault at all; I was just overreacting (scratch the 'over' part. That was totally called for). However, he doesn't see it that way.

"Frankie, I am so sorry. Please don't cry. I care about you so much, you know that right?" I nod miserably and he just keeps hugging me. "I didn't mean to hurt you. I just – I heard some shocking news is all."

I instantly pull back and look at him, "About? Please tell me. I want to help you."

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. "It's Mikey…"

"No," Ray says in disbelief, finally feeling comfortable to say something. Obviously Gerard and I made him uncomfortable with the way we were acting; we do that sometimes. We make people feel like they're looking in on an extremely private or intimate moment, when it's not a big deal. Sometimes that's how it goes. We forget about everything and it's like we're the only two people alive. I love it. I love him.

I get scared. "He's not—"

"No, no." Gerard shakes his head. "He's not dead."

The silence stretches on for so long I think I might go insane.

"He's awake."


	11. Everything's An Illusion

Battle of the Bands – Everything's An Illusion

When I sit with Mikey, the entire world fades. I don't know how I've made it through all this time without him. Okay, I do. Frank. I smile; he saved me. I had no hope and he saved me. I don't think I could have asked for a better person to come into my life. Mikey and I talk, and his voice is soft and gentle. It's still Mikey, but it's not the same. He remembers me, luckily, but all he can do is tell me about this weird dream he had when he was asleep.

It was a reoccurring dream with this kid named Frank who was desperately in love with me. I shook my head at him and told him that it was ridiculous to think of Frank and me like that. His dream was partially correct. Frank is a real person, but we're only just friends. He's helped me so much. He's the best friend anyone could ask for.

I'm sure as hell lucky to have him in my life. I mean… I _wish _Frank and I were more than friends. I would do anything and everything to make that boy happy. I love him so fucking much and it's almost ridiculous.

The conversation between Mikey and me is so casual and peaceful. That's why I immediately notice the time difference. One second I'm sitting with Mikey after he _just _woke up, and now? Now it's later that night. Mikey confesses to me that he _knows _Frank loves me. I'm incredibly shocked, but somehow I'm not? Part of me isn't confused at all. Yeah this makes sense. Totally. He loves me and I love him, right?

No. Wait that's wrong! We're friends okay? _Just friends_.

Mikey just keeps insisting, though. He says he _knows_ for a fact. He knows. He knows. We get away from the subject just as briefly as we breeched it. We wander into more welcome territory and make some more small talk. Just simply being around Mikey is enough to make me feel at home. To make me feel loved. I'm laughing, and he's talking and smiling. Then suddenly his thoughts swerve.

"I talked to Frank," his voice is small.

"_What?!_" I can't believe him.

"Yeah, and I told him about my dream." He doesn't seem sorry at all. "I'm not sorry," he says as if he's reading my thoughts.

I scrub my hands over my face, "Mikey… Why would you do that?"

He shrugs, but he knows I can't see it, "Because I was right."

I frown at him, "Uh, what?"

"Yeah, I asked Frank about it, and he told me I was right. The kid's in love with you, Gerard. And the way you're acting right now…you're in love with him too, I can tell."

"Mikey…" My stomach twists up in all these little knots at the mere mention of Frank, and I feel my knees go weak, even though I'm sitting. My head starts to swim and I feel so love sick that it's not even funny. I think I need a doctor.

Mikey shakes his head at me, "No, Gerard. You're my brother, and I may have been gone for a while, but I still know you better than you know yourself."

Ha, that was fucking true.

"I didn't think anyone would know." I shrug.

"Well, I do. And he needs to know too." No! No, _no_! I can't! I can't do that. I can't tell him. It's too much. I just can't. Frank is so sick. Frank is so…he's so special to me, and he fucking is dying and I can't handle that kind of pressure. I can't be the last happy thing on this kid's mind before he goes. I'm not good enough. I'm not. I know I'm not, and no amount of talking could convince me otherwise.

"I can't! I can't tell him."

"Because the kid has cancer?"

"N-no, it's just—" Fuck. I'm embarrassed.

"It's because he has cancer, isn't it?" He's fucking _furious_. He glares at me, "You can't let that affect you. If you love someone, you need to fucking tell them." Then his voice grows softer and he grabs my hand, squeezing it tightly. "You're perfect for each other, and you need to be together." Ha, like he'd even know. That's so ridiculous.

Me and Frank? No. Never in a million years would he go for a guy like me…but if he did? Oh, God you don't know the things I would do to worship that body the way it deserves to be worshiped. The way I would treat him. The love I already feel? It's more than enough to last me through seeing Frank. I don't need to be with Frank. I just want him happy.

"How do you even know that?"

Mikey's face grows blurry, and every sound is dull. I don't see Mikey's lips move, but I can tell he said these words.

I know he did.

He looked right at me, smiled and said, "Because this is all in your head."


	12. AMBULANCE

Battle of the Bands – AMBULANCE

The second my eyes open, it hits me like a freight train. The pain is unbearable, but only for a moment. I blink a few times, and it fades to a dull ache. I stare up at the ceiling and wonder what the fuck just happened? If it was possible for me to get amnesia yet not forget anything, this was the moment that it happened. I didn't know what day it was, what was currently happening in my life, and why I was even asleep. I still knew who I was and who my family was and who my friends are. I still just feel a little…

I look down next to me and see my cell phone; the screen is lit up. I sit up and rub the sleep out of my eyes, checking the clock on my night stand. It's 10 AM. I pick up my phone and flip it open. I have a text message from…

SENDER: The Best Thing That's Ever Happened

RECIPIENT: Me

9:48 AM

Hey will you come over today?

I don't know. Will I come over today? Probably. It's not like I have anything going on ever. (Except Mikey. Mikey is the exception.) I shrug and look around my room for wherever the fuck my mom hung the goddamned calendar. It's October 30th. For some reason that day feels important to me. Should it? Not sure. I shake my head and hit 'reply'.

SENDER: Me

RECIPIENT: The Best Thing That's Ever Happened

10:05 AM

Yeah, absolutely. I'll be there ASAP.

I roll out of bed and lazily trudge to the bathroom. Take a piss. Brush my teeth. Go back to my room and sort through my clothes. Find a shirt that doesn't smell too bad. Force it over my head and smooth down my hair as best as I can. Pull on a pair of jeans with holes in them, slip my shoes on, and head downstairs. My mom's already at work, so I don't have to worry about her yelling at me for not eating breakfast.

I pour myself a cup of coffee and force my feet to drag me to the door and open it. The sun stings a bit, but I have sunglasses on. I get into my car and turn it on, turning the AC to full blast. I sigh and sit there for a second. I'm just going through the motions of my life. At this moment, I don't know how I'm supposed to be feeling. My body is just as confused as my mind is. I don't feel anything. Not one thing. Right now? Nothing would hurt.

But somewhere in the back of my mind a tiny voice reminds me that there _is _something that is important to me. There's something I'd give my life for without a second thought. It's something… no it's some_one_. And that 'someone' is not Mikey, surprisingly enough.

I shake my head and put the car in reverse. I don't know where I'm going, but my memory takes me to my destination. I don't remember much of the drive. A few right turns. One left turn. A stop light. Four stop signs. I pull up to the first house on the right and get out of my car. I look around, more confused than ever, and head to the front door, my cup of coffee completely forgotten about. Part of me knows that this house will already have a cup waiting for me, and the other part of me doesn't even register that I forgot it in the first place.

I don't ring the doorbell. I just open the door, discard my shoes, and make my way to the living room. On the television I see The Powerpuff Girls, and sitting on the couch is a boy that I feel like I know. He's really engrossed in the show, and I can feel myself smile fondly. Something magical and extraordinarily happy just manifests in my chest and it takes me by surprise. I'm used to feeling this way, but…not? If that makes any sense. Probably not.

I shuffle into the room and sit down on the couch next to him. He leans into me, and I instinctively throw my arm around his shoulders, but his eyes never once leave the screen. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing. It's actually really hard to decide. Something tells me that he's never quiet, and another part of me knows that he really fucking loves The Powerpuff Girls. Like…a _lot_.

When the screen goes black and the commercials come on, I turn my head and kiss him on the cheek. This all seems new, but I know it's not. I feel my mouth open, "Heya Frankie." He turns to me and smiles brightly, all teeth and completely ecstatic. Something tells me I've never called him that before. His expression pulls at my heartstrings and I think I'm going to pass out. This is the single most incredibly beautiful human being I've ever seen…and he's mine.

He leans in and carefully presses his lips to mine.

Suddenly, everything comes rushing back to me. I remember Frank. I remember Mikey hasn't woken up. I remember being in love. But most importantly? I remember getting of my fear of losing Frank. I'll never be okay with it, but worrying about it won't change a goddamned thing.

"Hey guess what?" He seems so excited he might break.

"What?" I smile; he's contagious.

"I just came back from the hospital." I don't like this. I hate when he goes to the hospital. It usually just makes him sad. "I met with my doctor and he told me…" Oh. My. God. Does he have fucking _tears _in his eyes?! I'm so fucking confused, and I remember _everything_! I feel like he's about to say he only has two hours to live, but he's so smiley that I really don't know.

"He told you…?"

"My cancer," Frank bursts out crying. "It's going away." And _BAM_! Just like that, I'm crying too. I hug him as tightly as I can, and he holds onto me for dear life. Silent sobs make my entire body shake, and I don't see why I'm so emotional. Well, I _do_ but I really don't like him seeing me cry. I need to be strong. I need to love him like he deserves. I can't do that if I'm busy crying. Granted, this is some fucking huge news.

The tears seem to go just as fast as they come and when I pull back, I grab his face and stare deep into his eyes. Neither of us blinks for about a minute, and then my lips come crashing down on his. The kiss is intense, and there's no lust behind it. It's pure passion. It's like I'm sending him a message telling him how proud I am of him, and how much I love him. I don't need to say the words for him to know. Besides, I'm saving those three words for a later time.

When we pull away, we're both breathing heavily and I push a piece of hair out of his eyes. He smiles at me and reaches up to wipe away a stray tear. "Why are you crying?"

I take a deep breath. "I honestly don't know."

"You don't know?"

"I do…but I don't."

He seems confused, "Explain?"

"It's like… you say that and everything in my life becomes unimportant. All that matters to me is you. And I don't know. It's like my world exploded."

"I'm sorry?" He sounds genuinely sorry; like he could ever make a mistake.

"No!" I exclaim, kissing his forehead and then resting my forehead against his. "Don't ever apologize to me. I want to thank you, actually. I know this situation has really sucked for both of us, but I want you to know—" I stop to correct myself, "I _need _you to know that _you _are my life. My everything. And if I lose you, I lose myself. I lose part of me that I didn't know I needed until a few days ago." I know I was putting a lot of pressure on him, but he needed to know. Frank is strong. He'll understand.

Neither of us says anything for a while. Then I say, "I don't want you to feel like you're my only source of happiness. I don't want to pressure you to try and make me happy. Just by breathing, just by _existing _you're making me happy."

I kinda killed the mood by dropping one of the biggest bombshells ever. Y'know, I'm basically just fucking saying '_You're the only reason I'm happy ever in my life. Ever_.' but that's exactly what I'm saying! I don't want to scare him, honestly I don't. I just need him to know.

He shakes his head and when he leans back, I see he's smiling. He doesn't say anything, but he just pushes me over and lies down next to me, his eyes focused on the TV again. The show is back on. I pull him close and drape my arm over his stomach. He entwines his fingers in mine and squeezes my hand. I duck my head and kiss his neck, reveling in the satisfactory shiver it produced.

We're both quiet as we watch the show and it's a warm, comfortable silence that I wouldn't mind living with just as long as I was with Frank. A few minutes in, Frank scares me by suddenly talking. "What if I want to be your only source of happiness? Did you ever think of that?" And no I hadn't.

"No," I say. "I didn't. Do you want to be?"

"Do I make you happy?"

"More than anything in the world."

"Then yes." I don't have to look at him to know he's smiling. I hear it clear as day in his voice. I sigh and smile, nuzzling the back of his neck with my nose. I inhale the most amazing smell I've ever come across—coffee, soap, peppermint, fruit, and something musky that makes me want to jump his bones every time I see him—and smile against his skin. I let my eyes drift close and I don't care if I fall asleep. As long as I'm holding Frank, I'm okay. As long as he's around, I'm safe.

I'm not sure, but right before I fall into unconsciousness, I feel myself say two words that are almost as sacred as 'I love you'. People take these words for granted, but I rarely ever do.

"Thank you."


	13. The Light Behind Your Eyes

Battle of the Bands – The Light Behind Your Eyes

October 31st has become the most important day in history. It is the day that the most perfect, imperfect person ever was born, and if I liked the holiday before this, I fucking loved it now. I had so many things planned that I was literally freaking out almost every two minutes. There were words I wanted to say, movies I wanted to watch, things (or people) I wanted to do. I didn't know how to go about it, so I was just kinda…y'know. Freaking the fuck out.

"Gerard," Ray's voice was annoyed. "Gerard! Okay, dude you need to stop. You're making me nervous and I hate it." Ray had come over early in the morning after I text him and told him I was having a panic attack about Frank's birthday.

"I can't!" I exclaim. "I'm sorry!" I'm running around my room trying to do a thousand things at one time. My mom has already left for work, and told me I could stay at Frank's for the night to spend time with him on his birthday (not that my mom needs a special day as an excuse for me to hang out with friends). I stop for a second and look at the things sitting on my desk. I'd gotten him a pumpkin pie, all the Star Wars movies, two original comic books, several pictures I'd drawn (two of Mikey), and then I had money to buy pizza. I knew Frank would kill me for spending so much on him, but I also knew he'd resurrect me and kill me again if I took him somewhere fancy. Frank was just that kind of guy; simple.

"Can you at least put some underwear on?" Ray makes a face. I make a face back at him and grab a fresh pair of underwear. I'd been wearing a towel because I'd actually taken a motherfucking _shower_! Can you believe that shit?! A _SHOWER_! I quickly slip them on and then stand there for a second. "Now, can you put clothes on?"

"God, shut up!" But I put clothes on anyways. I pick a pair of rather fitting jeans and use my skull belt buckle. I slip on a plain, white t-shirt and a white dress shirt over that. I don't button it up or tuck it in. I just roll up the sleeves and slip on my red vest. I rush to the bathroom and brush my teeth—twice—before applying a generous amount of eyeliner and mussing my hair up the way Frank likes it. When I get back to my room, Ray—who had been looking through the comic books I'd gotten for Frank—looks up at me and his eyes widen.

"Damn." Ray smirked, "I'm not gay, but I'd tap that."

I blush wildly, "Well thanks, but that's kind of a weird thing to say."

Ray ignores my comment and just says, "What shoes are you wearing?"

"My converse?"

"Red or black?"

"I was actually going to wear the purple ones."

"Good." Then he looks at me before adding, "You need something else. That whole 'Prince-of-Darkness' thing really works for you. Play that up! That's the kind of shit Frank's wet-dreams are made of!" I blush again and just scratch the back of my head awkwardly. "You're wearing your sunglasses, right?"

"Is there ever a time when I'm outside and _not _wearing them?"

"Don't gimme attitude, Way." Ray narrows his eyes, "I got it! I know exactly what you need!" He gets out of his chair and walks to my closet, rummaging around for something. He emerges with my leather jacket and tells me to put it on. I oblige and he steps back, whistling slightly. "Sex. Guaranteed."

My faces gets more red than it already is, if that's fucking possible, and I put Frank's birthday presents into a 'Teenage Mutant Nina Turtles' backpack—except the pie, obviously—and shrug it over my shoulder. "Let's just go." I mutter before turning and leaving my room. I actually skip the coffee today, knowing I'm too nervous to keep anything down. I make sure I have my cell and my keys and head out the door.

Ray is following closely behind me and he says, "You're driving."

I look at him cautiously, "What? I thought you were."

"I'm not going to Frank's."

"What?!"

"I'll spend time with him later!" He shrugs and unlocks his car. "I think you look nice, which means Frank will jizz himself the second you step in the door, and I don't want to be there if shit gets real." I swear…Ray Toro will be the death of me. Before he slides into his car he says, "Have fun!" and waggles his eyebrows at me.

I hate him. So fucking much. I get to my car and put everything inside, starting it and pulling out of the driveway. The ride to Frank's seems ten times longer than it usually does and when I finally get there, the house looks dead. It usually does. I know Frank is inside, all alone, and my heart starts to hurt. Frank's too good for that kind of shit. I make my way to the front door and open it, stepping into the air conditioned house, sighing gratefully.

This time, I hear the TV in the basement and I'm slightly impressed because we never spend time down there. I know he has a big couch and huge TV down there and I get excited. The basement is the most expensive room in this entire house. It has new carpeting, a bed, a fridge, a bathroom with a shower, and a small kitchenette. A person could live down there forever. The only reason I know the basement is like that is because I've been down there a few times (only to grab a soda).

"Heya Frankie," I call as I make my way down the steps.

"Hey," he calls. I set the pie on the counter and put the bag next to it, pulling off my sunglasses. He's sitting on the floor in front of the TV, and he's not paying attention to me. He just really fucking loves cartoons. He rarely got to watch TV in the hospital so he uses every chance he gets. I'm really nervous about how I look and what I got him. I just don't know if he'll like it.

I clear my throat and stand behind him next to the table awkwardly.

"So…"

XxXxXxXxX

"So…" I know I'm not paying attention to him but I just really fucking love cartoons. Luckily, that's when the commercials come on, and I stand up, stretching and yawning a bit.

"I don't like the way Cartoon Network does cartoons nowadays." Then I turn around and freeze. I can feel my eyes go wide, my heart race, my breathing stop, and that familiar warm feeling in my groin. I don't think I've ever seen something that…fucking. Oh. My. God. I can't stop staring, and it's making him uncomfortable. But I just can't stop. That's so not fair! He's not allowed to give me a boner in five seconds because I look at him. And he's biting his fucking lip...ugh this isn't fair.

"Happy birthday, Frankie." He smiles at me and my entire system crashes.

"I don't think," I start slowly, walking towards him. "Those three words have ever sounded as fucking hot as they did just now, coming out of your mouth." I stop a few inches away from him and give him an _extremely_ thorough once-over. He's blushing and then leans forward to kiss me and I immediately freak the fuck out. "No! Don't – don't kiss me. Or touch me."

He looks hurt, "Why?"

"Because if you kiss me or touch me, I will think or do some very naughty things." I look at him again, and bite my lip. Those pants look fucking sexy as fuck on him, but I think they'd look better on my floor. Yeah, on my floor right next to his shirts and vest and underwear. I can feel myself getting hard and I quickly turn away, closing my eyes and taking deep breaths. A second later, I feel him behind me, hugging my waist and resting his chin on my shoulder. _Oh come on, really_?! He should know not to stand _behind _me!

His grip tightens and he ducks his head to kiss my neck, and I all but come in my pants. "Gerard," I whine in this really embarrassing porn-star voice. "Stop, _please_." I can feel my voice break on the word 'please' but I really don't care. The last thing I wanted to do was come before he even really touched me. A single fucking kiss was all it took to make my hard-on strain against the zipper of my jeans.

"Okay," Gerard murmurs against my skin. "I'll stop…for now." He pulls away, grabbing my hand and guiding me to the couch. He sits me down and hands me a backpack. It's fucking 'Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles' and I fucking love it!

I take it from him, smiling so hard it hurts. It's heavy, so I know something's inside it. I unzip it and my jaw drops. Inside I see a folder, two comic books—fuck, are those originals?!—and all six (fucking ALL 6!) Star Wars movies. I don't know what's in the folder, but that must have cost him a fucking fortune! I pull out the folder and open it and my entire world seems to spin. They're drawings; Gerard's drawings. Two of them are of Mikey. One is a vampire, one is Frankenstein, one is of a bunch of superheroes, and one is…

"This is me?" I pick up the piece of paper and show it to him. He smiles shyly and nods.

"I'm sorry if you don't like it. I—"

"Shut the fuck up!" I exclaim. "These are fucking amazing! I love it!" I carefully put it back in the folder and set the backpack on the ground. "I love it," I say gently, reaching out and touching his face.

He smiles again, "Well then I guess you wouldn't mind another present, right?" And he holds out what he's had in his hands this whole time—this whole time? How did I not notice? I look down and…

"A fucking pie?!" I ask in awe. "Motherfucker are you trying to kill me?!" He shakes his head as fast as possible and I roll my eyes, looking down at the pie. "First you show up fucking looking like porn, and then you fucking give me a bunch of _really fucking amazing _gifts, and now fucking pie…I can't even."

"I'm sorry?" He doesn't sound sorry.

"Bitch, do I have to slap you?"

He smirks, "If you're into that kind of stuff."

I groan, "Oh, shut up!" Then he sets the pie and the presents on the table and puts in the first (4th) Star Wars movie. I know how much Gerard loves those movies—as much as I fucking love cartoons—so I just lie with him and watch his face through the entire thing. It's like every time he watches it, he's seeing it for the first time. He still jumps at certain parts, and gets really intense, and smiles at the end.

As the credits roll, he looks down at me and then it's like _I'm _seeing _him_ for the first time, and I actually gasp. He's so beautiful, and I'm not even saying that because of his current physical appearance. I mean on the inside _and _the outside. He does so much for me, and puts so much time and effort into our relationship…if we even have one.

"Gerard?" I ask, my eyes wide and my heart pounding in my chest.

He stares down at me, "Yeah, Frankie?" Oh, and that nickname?! I fucking melt every time it leaves his lips. He will be the end of me, I swear. I tangle my hands in his hair and close my eyes. He bends down, kisses me lightly, and when he pulls back—just that our lips were brushing—I open my eyes, staring deep into his.

"Say it again," I whisper.

He closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and whispers against my skin, "Frankie." I smile and tip my chin the 5 degrees it takes to meet his lips. He runs his hand down my stomach and around my back, pulling me closer. I shiver and smile against his lips, pulling away again.

"One more time?"

He laughs and smiles, "Frankie." He pauses and examines my face very carefully. It makes me feel dangerously self conscious. I feel like there's something on my face, and when I reach up to fix it, he grabs my hand and entwines our fingers.

"Don't," he says, reading my thoughts as per usual. "You're perfect." And then it happens. It was an absolutely perfect moment in every sense of the word, and I can't believe it actually happens…and it's _me_, not him, saying it!

"Gerard," I take a deep breath. "I love you." He doesn't say anything. He closes his eyes and rests for a minute.

Then he murmurs, just loud enough, "Say it again."

I smile, "I love you."

"One more time?"

I know he was just using my words against me, but I couldn't help but complain about it. "What, is it your birthday or mine?" We both laugh, but I oblige. "I love you."

"Oh, Frankie…" Gerard sighs with a smile on his face. "I love you. More than anything, and I'm eternally grateful to have you in my life. I want you to stay…forever." He kisses the back of my hand, "Frankie, will you be mine?"

I feel my breath hitch in my throat and I take a second to appreciate what the fuck is happening in my life. I'm in love. I'm happy. My fucking cancer is starting to go away. And right now? Right here? The boy I fell in love with just asked me to be his. This boy who decided to give me the greatest gift of all on my birthday. This boy who gave me the greatest gift of all, and showed up at my house, and instantly turned me on. Seriously, can life get any better?

Actually…fuck yeah it can!

"Of course!" I exclaim. "God, do you even have to ask that question?!" He didn't answer. He leaned down and gently placed his lips over mine. The kiss was sweet and slow, but I wanted—no! I _needed _more. I tangle my hands in his hair again and pull myself as close as possible. I feel his tongue trace my bottom lip and I immediately grant entrance. We spend a few seconds battling for dominance, but in the end…he won.

He's kissed me like this before, but something about this seems so different. So…so raw. So passionate. Yeah, we've kissed like that before, but there are things we haven't done. Things I want to do. Things that are just about to happen.

Before we know it, it's all lips crashing, teeth gnashing, tongues dancing, hearts racing, and only a limited amount of oxygen. However, neither of us will come up for air, and it's only fueling the fire. His hand travels down my chest and I gasp loudly when it brushes over my already-way-harder-than-it-should-be dick. I bite my lip and my head falls backwards, but Gerard doesn't miss a beat and within seconds his lips are at the base of my throat, his tongue darting out here and there. I make some rather embarrassing squeaks, and thrust into his palm. He pushes down against me and I almost come right then.

"Ah, f-fuck." I pant. "Oh, fuck. Shit. Shitshitshitshit." Gerard pulls back and watches my face as he palms over my cock.

"Fuck, Frankie." I moan when I hear my name. "You're so fucking beautiful. So fucking amazing, ah…" he's rutting against my leg, and we both know that we could easily switch positions to be more comfortable, but we both also know that nothing can ruin this moment. "Ah, I – I wanna touch you, Frankie. I wanna taste you. _All _of you." Then he does this thing with his wrist and rolls his fingers against my cock and I feel my jaw drop. There are literally no more sounds to describe how I'm feeling right now.

He bends down to kiss me again, and his lips make their way down my jaw, down my neck, and when I no longer feel his lips on me, I look down to see what's happening and I almost lose my mind. He's shimmying his way down my body and stops when his face is right between my legs. He licks his lips slightly, and his eyes meet mine. He watches me as he leans forward and nuzzles his nose in the crease between my hip and my leg.

I bite my lip and whimper pathetically. He smirks and takes pity on me, unzipping my jeans, pulling them off, and discarding them on the floor. He doesn't give me a warning when he wraps his mouth around my length, his tongue tracing the fabric of my boxers.

"Fuck," I gasp. "You're such a fucking tease."

He shrugs and leans back, "This wouldn't be fun if I didn't get to tease you."

"Like I asked before; is it your birthday or mine?!" I'm out of my mind right now and he's fucking talking to me with his stupid fucking face two goddamned centimeters away from my dick and I just can't take it. He waggles his eyebrows and hooks his fingers in the elastic of my underwear, pulling them off swiftly. He stares greedily and licks his lips again and I think I'll kill him…

I open my mouth to yell at him, but my words die in my throat and are replaced by an ungodly sound that only a porn star would make as his tongue darts out and swipes the head of my cock. Then he leans forward again, taking the head in his mouth and sucking lazily. I fight the urge to thrust into his mouth and settle for making a bunch of choking noises as I try not to come. He takes more of me and then pulls off. Back down halfway…then he pulls off.

Again, I open my mouth to yell, but he grabs my cock and starts pumping, squeezing the head every time his hand comes up. I see stars behind my eyelids and I haven't even fucking came yet. I will murder him.

My hands settle in his hair—where they're comfortable—and he takes the hint. He doesn't waste any more time, and practically attacks my cock, which, hey! I'm perfectly fine with. His hot, wet mouth engulfs my dick and he takes in all of me, and I feel my eyes bulge out of my head when his head bobs up and he presses his tongue against my dick. I want to come so fucking bad, but I can't…not yet. This is too good.

His tongue swirls around the tip and dips into the slit slightly. I scream and my hands tighten in his hair, forcing his head back down. Then he does everything he can. Suck, blow, nip. Press his tongue, use his hand, circle around the head, squeeze tightly…you name it, he did it. I can feel it coming and I gasp.

"Fuck! Gerard, I – fuck. Oh fuck. I'm gonna—" He just hums around my cock, and that's what does it for me. I squeeze my eyes shut, my jaw drops, I go completely still, and all Gerard does is suck. My orgasm hits me like a tidal wave and I see stars again. I see stars, and fireworks, and fucking rainbows and unicorns. Hell, I think I even glimpse heaven. Gerard sucks the entire time, swallowing every last drop.

He pulls off with a pop, and my body goes slack. Gerard pulls my underwear back on and leans over me, smiling wildly. I force his head down, and kiss him harder than I've ever kissed him before. I taste myself and I think I'm going to come again. He pulls back and smiles at me fondly. He smoothes my hair back down and kisses my forehead.

"My birthday." Gerard says decisively. "It's definitely my birthday." I laugh breathlessly. "You taste like pineapples and how lavender smells."

"I taste how something smells?"

"Exactly," he taps my nose and I blush. Even if he just sucked my dick, everything he does is adorable and cute and I just can't help but blush.

I feel his hard-on against my thigh and I frown at him. "What about you?"

He shakes his head, "It's fine. Really, it's fine." My hand closes around his cock and I squeeze slightly. His jaw goes slack and he moans.

"Are you sure?" I ask knowingly.

"I'm sure," he pants, trying to control himself. He ducks his head and kisses my neck again. My head rolls to the side and I moan softly. He pulls slightly, "I have something, er…" another kiss. "_Special_ planned for later."

"Later?" I ask quietly, running my fingers through his hair. I feel my heart leap in my chest and oh my God is he suggesting…? Fuck.

"Mhmm," the word buzzes against my skin. "Later as in… a few days."

I blush again and cover my face with my hands; I don't wanna wait that fucking long! And here I was getting so fucking excited. Shit. "Oh fuck me…"

"Gladly," he smiles, nuzzling his way between my hands and kissing me again.

"Yeah whatever," I grumble.

"Hey, Frankie?" My heart swells and I feel light headed. That name just… I can't even.

"Y-yeah?"

"I love you, and I am yours for as long as you want me." He pauses, "But I have to ask again… Frankie, will you be mine?"

"Duh you dumbass!" I roll my eyes. Then I smile shyly, "Say it again?"

"Frankie…" he sighs longingly. "Now you."

"I love you."

"Again?"

I roll my eyes again, "Just put in the next Star Wars."

XxXxXxXxX

So today is the best day of my life. Okay, it's _one_ of _many_ best days of my life. All of the best days of my life have occurred in the last week or two, and I can't help but shake the feeling that the love of my life might have something to do with it? Just maybe a little bit a lot? Okay, yeah…without a doubt it's because of him.

Frank sighs and falls onto the couch dramatically, nearly elbowing me in the stomach. "I swear," he murmurs. "William Shakespeare wrote Star Wars." I look at him questioningly, and even though he's pressing his face into my chest right now with his eyes closed, he can feel it. "No, seriously Gee. Think about it. Biggest troll in history. It only makes sense that he writes the biggest troll in history!"

Something about his logic made perfect sense. I mean, think about it for a second; all the fighting, those two useless sidekicks who end up being important, the big reveal at one point, people fighting some more, forbidden love, death, losing limbs and shit… This sounded like 'Romeo and Juliet' had a baby with a serial killer. Slowly my lips say, "I get it."

He doesn't believe me, I can tell, but he doesn't say anything. He reaches up, blindly, and tries to stroke my face. He actually manages to rest his hand on my face in a way that doesn't hurt me or poke my eye out, and his thumb slowly strokes my cheek bone. I turn my head and kiss the center of his palm, "I love you, Frankie."

"'M tired." He mumbles against my chest and his voice sends a buzz through my body. I laugh and kiss the top of his head, breathing in the smell of his shampoo. I dig out my cell phone from under me and look at the time. It's 8 PM. We already ate pizza—to which Frank greatly protested because he didn't want me paying—and had pie—which was fucking delicious beeteedubs.

Everything I'd planned on doing today had already been completed, and I swear: It's like it really was my birthday after all. I got to spend a shit load of time with the only person I can't stand to _not _be around, and that's all that I can ask for. For the rest of my life, I want to wake up and see Frank next to me.

"Go to sleep, Frankie."

"I love you."

"I love you, too," I pause and keep stroking his hair. "But you're tired. Go to bed."

"Hey, Gee?" Oh, and since when was that my nickname? I mean, don't get me wrong! I love it so much it makes my heart hurt, but where the fuck did it come from? A tiny part of me knows it's just a word that signifies the strictly monogamous relationship between Frank and I, but there's another part of me that just wonders…

"Yeah?"

"Will you sing to me?" I smile against his hair and rub his back in soothing circles.

"Of course," I say. I contemplate which song to sing for him and finally I settle on a song that I recently wrote. I take a deep breath. "_So long to all my friends, every one of them met tragic ends. With every passing day, I'd be lying if I didn't say that I miss them all tonight. And if they only knew what I would say if I could be with you tonight, I would sing you to sleep; never let them take the light behind your eyes. One day I'll lose this fight. As we fade in the dark, just remember you will always burn as bright._"

I feel the tears coming, and I do my best to push them away. I wrote this when I was thinking about 'Y'know…what if I _do _have to say goodbye to Frank? What if he _doesn't _make it?' It's sad and horrible, but this song… it's just for him.

"_Be strong and hold my hand. Time becomes for us, you'll understand. We'll say goodbye today, and we're sorry how it ends this way. If you promise not to cry, then I'll tell you just what I would say if I could be with you tonight. I would sing you to sleep; never let them take the light behind your eyes. I'll fail and lose this fight; never fade in the dark. Just remember you will always burn as bright._"

I feel Frank's breath even out and sigh in relief that it's actually working. I'm so scared I'll disappoint him somehow, and I need him. I need him to live. No not literally; I _can _live without him, but do I want to? Ever? I want to make him happy, and as long as he's happy, I'm happy.

"_Sometimes we must grow stronger, and you can't be stronger in the dark. When I'm here no longer, you must be strong and if I could be with you tonight, I would sing you to sleep. Never let them take the light behind your eyes. I failed and lost this fight. Never fade in the dark; just remember you will always burn as bright._" Then I duck my head and kiss his head one more time. When I bring my hand to brush the hair out of his face, my fingers touch something wet and that's when I realize.

The last thing Frank did before falling asleep was cry.


	14. Help I'm Alive

Battle of the Bands – Help I'm Alive

In the days following my birthday, I've visited the hospital for more than one reason; cancer. The doctors check on me, they give me a CT scan and then they send me on my way with the typical 'We'll know in a few days'. This time is a bit different. My cancer is clearing up so fast that they're wondering how it's physically possible.

Is it gone completely? Not by a long shot. Do I still have a long way to go? Absolutely. However, the mere fact that it's getting _better _is a sign of something. I don't believe in God the way I should, but I believe in people and honestly think—100%—that Gerard is the reason I'm getting better. I love him, and I wouldn't give him up for anything in the world. Not even being cured.

Today, Ray and Gerard are over and we're playing video games—we're _all _playing video games. Did I kick Ray's ass? Fuck yeah! Did Gerard totally almost start crying when Ray beat him? Fuck yeah! In the end, did Gerard slaughter both of us and win by a landslide? In his dreams, motherfucker!

"That's not even fair!" Gerard whines.

"It's video games." Ray says, rolling his eyes.

"Very good, Ray! I see you've been taking your meds." He pushes me over and I laugh the entire time. When I fall over I happen to land in Gerard's lap (which I totally don't mind) and a few seconds later, Ray kills me on the screen and he's jumping up and down singing "SUCK ON THAT, MOTHERFUCKER! THAT'S WHAT YOU GET FOR DATING!"

"Dude," I giggle. "My mom's upstairs."

Ray freezes in his tracks and looks toward the ceiling, "Sorry, Ms. Iero!"

"It's okay, Ray!" Comes the response. He turns the colour of a tomato and Gerard and I almost die of air deprivation and muscle spasms because we're laughing so hard. Ray sticks his tongue out at us and sits on the couch, sulking in silence. I sit up and launch myself at him, but he totally saw that shit coming. He puts me in a head lock and I whine, seemingly annoyed.

"That's what you get," Ray grits through his teeth. A second later, I hear a buzzing sound and my head immediately (well, kinda immediately) turns toward Gerard. He pulls out his phone and frowns down at the number. My blood runs cold and I quickly free myself from Ray's grip. This isn't good. This is just like that stupid fucking dream I had, and I had freaked the fuck out, waking up with wet cheeks.

"Hello?" He waits a second and then drops the phone, not bothering to pick it up again. On the other end I can hear a woman yelling into the phone to see if Gerard's still there, but he's not responding. His hand is still to his ear, but the phone fell, and Gerard is frozen.

I pick up the phone, "He'll have to call you back." And I close it. "Gee? What's wrong?"

He swallows dryly, "Mikey…"

Ray covers his mouth with his hand, "Oh. My. God." Comes the muffled voice, "Is he okay? He's not—"

Gerard shakes his head and interrupts, "No, he's not dead. He's – he's awake." And despite what happened in the dream, before Gerard said those exact words, I still get really excited and nervous and scared.

"What?!" I exclaim. "What the fuck are we doing here?! Let's go!" I move to stand up but Gerard grabs my wrist and pulls me down, looking into my eyes. He's scared shitless.

"No, I don't want to go."

Ray is the one who questions, "Why?"

Gerard shakes his head, still looking me straight in the eye. "You wouldn't understand."

I stroke his face and smile sadly, "I understand."

"No, Frank. You don't."

"Yes I do," I reassure him. "You don't want to see him because you still feel bad about what happened." By the way he looked away and the pure shame I saw cross his face, I knew I was right. Gerard blamed himself, and he didn't want to face Mikey.

Ray sighs, "Gerard that's stupid. It's not your fault. The only person he'll want to see is you, and you know that."

"I don't know, you guys," he shakes his head again.

I put my finger under his chin and force him to look at me. "Gerard. You better fucking go right now or I'll drag you down there myself." He looks miserable and he whines, "I don't want to." And I get a brilliant idea. It's ingenious. I lick my lips slowly and lean forward to whisper in his ear, "We go now. We fuck later."

Gerard's breath hitches in his throat and he pulls back, looking at me with wide and hazy eyes. "Why are you Satan?"

I shrug and give him a shit-eating grin, "I'm persuasive."

He glares, "Same difference."

Ray looks between the two of us before deciding, "You're both gross."


	15. Anything For Love

Battle of the Bands – Anything For Love

To say that Gerard was nervous to see Mikey was a bit of an understatement. For the longest time, he'd been pushing this meeting out of his mind. Has he always dreamed of Mikey waking up? Of course! But to think that he's actually going to have a conversation with his brother? It scares the shit out of him. Gerard assumes that what happened was his fault. He assumes that the only person to blame is the person who wasn't there. Naturally, Frank assumed that Gerard was being stupid; despite their past, he saw Gerard as someone who could do no wrong.

Well, no _real _wrong. Maybe he'd say a few things here and there that made Frank want to punch him, but in the end, he was perfect. At least in Frank's eyes.

When Ray, Frank, and Gerard walk into the room, Gerard nearly turns around and runs. He's scared and Frank can sense it. Frank gently places his hand on Gerard's shoulder and smiles at him, encouragingly. Gerard smiles back, gratefully.

The room is dark, and the figure on the bed is frail and weak—it's almost too much for Gerard. Seeing his brother this way? It's hard. Harder than it was before he went into the coma. Mikey looks up at the sound and when his eyes fall on Gerard's he smiles and starts to cry.

"Gerard," he murmurs. Gerard immediately rushes to his side and drops to his knees beside the bed. He's desperate, and Frank and Ray just hang in the background. This moment is private, but they already promised Gerard that they wouldn't leave.

"Mikey," his voice breaks. "Oh, Mikey. I'm so sorry."

"Sorry?" Mikey sniffs with a sad smile.

"For what happened. It's all my fault."

"I know we're all entitled to our opinions," Mikey said softly, holding Gerard's hand. "But you're wrong about that. The only person you can blame is whoever hit me." Frank's changed his mind; he doesn't want to be there anymore. He doesn't think he can stand to just stand there in the background while his boyfriend—the love of his life—tears himself apart over something that is totally not his fault. This is so sensitive that Frank wonders why he's there in the first place. _Because I promised Gerard, _he tells himself and then smiles.

"I do, but—"

"I really don't wanna hear it," Mikey doesn't sound angry. Just tired. Then he pauses and looks over Gerard's shoulder, his eyes meeting Frank's. He doesn't have to say 'Come here' for Frank to know that's what he wanted to happen. Slowly, but surely, Frank makes his way next to Gerard and sits in the chair beside him. He smiles sheepishly.

"Hi," he says awkwardly. "I'm Frank."

"Frank," Mikey says quietly, just trying out the name. It feels foreign in his mouth, but at the same time it feels like home. It feels like Frank should be there; should be part of their life. Mikey feels like he knows Frank, but that's a conversation for a different day. All this time, Gerard is watching Frank carefully, and his eyes are so full of love that it's almost hard to ignore. Mikey looks at his brother with a knowing smile, "I leave for one goddamned second, and suddenly you're in love."

It's Frank who answers (because Gerard is blushing too much). "That's all you really missed." And he shrugs, trying to make it seem like it's not a big deal—which it totally is.

"It's something big to miss," Mikey smirks and rolls his eyes and Frank can see the resemblance between the two brothers. They both think they're hot shit.

"Nah, not really." Frank shrugs again.

Mikey laughs quietly and then stares at Gerard for a second. "You did a good job, Gee," he nods towards Frank. "He's beautiful." Frank blushes wildly, and Gerard's hand curls around his in a protective manner.

"Get your own," Gerard says, but he's smiling. Mikey laughs one last time before Frank decides they should leave. Mikey really needs the rest. Even if he's been sleeping for a while, that doesn't mean he doesn't get tired easily. The dude _just _woke up! Give him a break! Frank squeezes Gerard's hand and then nods towards the door. They all say their goodbyes and sneak out quietly. Mikey is asleep before they're out the door, and Gerard smiles fondly at him before shutting the door behind them. Once they're in the hall, Frank kisses Gerard on the cheek.

"I'm so proud of you," and he smiles. Gerard smiles back, and Ray rolls his eyes.

Sometimes he can't even with his friends…


	16. You Make Me Feel

Battle of the Bands – You Make Me Feel…

After leaving the hospital, Ray dropped Frank and Gerard off at Gerard's house and went home to finish some homework. Gerard's parents weren't home because they had rushed to the hospital the second the phone call came. Gerard felt relieved to have seen Mikey and made amends. He felt _extremely _relieved when Mikey seemed open and receptive toward Frank. Oh, and speaking of Frank…

"Didn't you promise me something?" Gerard smiles wickedly against Frank's lips. The moment they'd walked in the door, Frank slammed it behind them, pushed Gerard against it and kissed the _fuck _out of him. Slowly, Frank takes steps backwards—refusing to break lip contact with Gerard—as he makes his way to the basement steps at which point he decides it's dangerous to make out and blindly walk down a bunch of steep steps. They pull apart, Frank grabs Gerard's hand, and they run down the stairs as fast as possible. Gerard barely closed the door behind them, and barely had enough time to regain his balance at the bottom of the steps before Frank's mouth was on his neck.

"Remember my birthday, and you said you had something planned '_later_'?" Frank mumbles between kisses. He paws at Gerard's shirt and eventually hauls it over his head. Then they were kissing again, their tongues dancing in their ever-raging battle of 'Who-The-Fuck-Gets-Dominance-Right-Now?'.

"Yeah?" Gerard asked, his lips making their way down Frank's jaw and nibbling at the sensitive spot behind his ear. Frank moans and it goes straight through Gerard, hitting his groin with a pulse.

"Well, '_now_' is '_later_'," Frank informed him breathily. Gerard pulls Frank's shirt off and discards it on the floor next to his own. Gerard's hands rest on Frank's hips and his mouth is forming an incredible hickey on the side of Frank's neck. He slowly walks them backwards, and when the back of Frank's legs hits the bed, they fall over together. Gerard's hands quickly fall on Frank's zipper, but Frank sits up and bats his hands away obviously thinking he could do it faster by himself. He pops the button, zips down the fly, and pulls them off in a matter of seconds.

Gerard pushes him back down softly kisses his way down Frank's chest, stopping at one nipple and flicking his tongue over it. Frank hisses and his back arches. Gerard smiles and runs his tongue over it again, but this time he's running his hands up Frank's thighs. He notices the tent in Frank's boxers, and lightly trickles his fingers up Frank's length. Frank moans loudly and lifts his hips to meet Gerard's touch.

"Gerard," Frank warns, staring at him with heavily-lidded, lust-ridden eyes. Gerard takes pity, backs away from Frank, and quickly pulls his pants off. He too has a massive tent in his pants and Frank reaches out to touch him. He's already impossibly hard, and his cock is leaking pre-cum which has soaked through his boxers. "Someone's a little excited." Frank smirks.

"You have no fucking clue," Gerard pants, trying his hardest to stay calm. Frank quickly grabs Gerard's hand and pulls him down. He falls neatly between Frank's legs, and they both make embarrassing sounds when their dicks rub together. Gerard kisses Frank deeply and slowly, taking his tongue in his mouth and sucking on it lazily. Meanwhile, Frank is arching his back and rolling his hips up to meet Gerard, and it's driving them both crazy.

"Gerard, ah, if w-we keep doing – ah fuck…doing this—"

"I know," Gerard moans, grinding down on Frank. "You're just so – ah, fucking good." Frank hooks his fingers in the elastic of Gerard's boxers and kisses him again.

"Off," he murmurs. Gerard quickly obliges, and pulls off his underwear. He also takes the time to pull Frank's underwear off and for a second they just stare. Frank, on his back, legs spread wide, his dick slapping his stomach. Gerard, sitting back on his knees, between Frank's legs, cock only inches away from Frank's.

"Gee?" Frank's voice is heavy with lust.

"Yeah, Frankie?" And Frank throws his head back and Gerard can see his dick twitch.

"Fuck me." And this horribly animalistic sound resonates in the back of Gerard's throat. He falls forward, his head ducking and attacking Frank's neck; his tongue traces a wet line from the base of his throat to the sensitive spot behind his ear. Frank makes a high pitched whining sound and arches his back.

"Say it again," Gerard mutters, wrapping his hand around Frank's cock and jerking it lazily. He swipes his thumb over the tip of Frank's dick and moans when Frank makes a series of pathetic whimpering sounds. Frank's dull fingernails rake down Gerard's back and he bites his lip, desperately fighting the urge to come at that very moment.

"Fu – uck me," he pants in Gerard's ear. Gerard kisses him and, without pulling away, he fumbles in the drawer, searching and searching for something. Finally he finds it and pulls away from Frank. As Gerard opens the small bottle and dumps some of its contents into his hand, Frank lies on the bed, breathing hard, eyes closed, heart racing, face flushed, and every inch of his skin on fire. Gerard throws his head back in ecstasy as his hand wraps around his cock and slowly—yet mechanically—spreads lube down his length.

He carefully leans over Frank and gently places a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "Say it again," Gerard whispers in Frank's ear, his finger lazily circling Frank's entrance. Frank shudders deliciously and Gerard smiles, licking his lips hungrily. Frank wraps his hand around his own cock and squeezes tightly, jacking-off furiously.

"Now," he whines. "Fuck me _now_." Without warning, Gerard pushes his finger through the tight ring of muscle and shivers at the feeling; _God he's so fucking tight_. After a few seconds he adds a second finger and then a third. At one point he crooks his finger, getting a different angle, and Frank cries out in pleasure.

"One more time?" Gerard asks, his voice wavering; he's so hard that it's actually painful. Frank doesn't answer. He just wraps his arms around Gerard's neck and pulls his head down for a kiss. Gerard removes his fingers and lines himself up. "I'm sorry, Frankie." He mumbles against Frank's lips. "This will probably hurt."

Frank shakes his head frantically, "I don't care." Gerard only hesitates a second before pushing in slowly. Frank freezes and gasps, and Gerard trembles, fighting the urge to push in all the way. Frank felt like he was being split in half and the pain was almost unbearable. Part of him regrets doing this, but the other part of him is so much in love that he would deal with this pain a thousand times over if it was for Gerard.

"I'm sorry," Gerard whispers, wiping away the tears that formed in the corners of Frank's eyes. He's going as slow as possible, but he doesn't know how long he can hold out. Frank shakes his head again and takes deep breaths. When Gerard is completely buried inside of Frank, he rests for a few seconds and squeezes his eyes shut.

"Move," Frank grits out. When Gerard doesn't do anything Frank gets irritated, "Move, goddamnit!" And instantly Gerard pulls out, and pushes back in. Frank's pain starts to dissipate and it turns into discomfort. Then the discomfort lessens and he actually starts to feel pleasure. Within seconds Frank is mewling like a filthy fucking whore, and the sounds are like music to Gerard's ears.

"O-oh, oh I – I," Frank wraps his legs around Gerard's torso and lifts his hips to meet his thrusts. Gerard grunts in agreement and attaches his mouth to Frank's neck, sucking as hard as possible. "Oh fuck…_oh fuck_," Frank pants. Right now? It's good. Hell, it's better than 'good'. It's fucking _great_! However, Frank wants more. He keeps clawing at Gerard's back, trying to get as close as possible.

"Fuck, Frankie," Gerard mumbles, lightly nipping at Frank's earlobe. Gerard reaches between them and grabs Frank's cock. Frank's body spasms causing his muscles to tighten around Gerard, and Gerard moans so loudly that it actually makes Frank blush. He mumbles something that makes Gerard slow down slightly.

"What did you say?" He smirks. Frank repeats himself, and Gerard _thinks _he knows what was said, but he desperately just wants to make Frank say it again because, c'mon, if you had heard what he did, you'd make Frank say it again too. "I'm sorry, one more time?"

Frank tangles his hands in Gerard's hair and pulls his head back, staring him straight in the eye and looking extremely serious. "I said '_Fuck. Me. Harder_'. Now, did you want to comply, or should I go finish this on my own?" Gerard nuzzles Frank's cheek and kisses his jaw lightly.

"You sure?" His breath tickles Frank's neck.

"Motherfucker do I sound like I'm joking?!" Gerard knows it's a rhetorical question, and he knows better than to fuck with Frank…well, in the metaphorical sense, that is. He takes a deep breath and pulls out almost completely. His eyes meet Frank's and without even a slight warning, he rams into Frank as hard as possible. Frank's jaw goes slack, and as Gerard pounds him into the mattress, he reaches down and starts jacking off.

"Uh, uh, fuck yeah. Ah, a-ah. Oh yeah – motherfuck, fuck! Oh. My. God." He throws his head back against the pillow and _what the fuck_?! Gerard is soooooo good; when Gerard slams in, it's like Frank can feel it all the way in his stomach. Gerard is licking Frank's neck and just… fucking Frank as hard as possible, and it's so _tight_, and so _hot_, and Gerard is seconds away from the best orgasm he's ever had.

Gerard angles himself slightly and Frank screams, gripping the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white. Gerard smiles against Frank's neck and continues to hit Frank's prostate over and over again, completely enjoying every pathetic sound it made Frank utter. Then he reaches down and bats Frank's hand away, gripping his cock and squeezing it tightly. He uses his thumb to spread the pre-come over the head and down his cock.

Frank is panting so hard he might pass out, and the sounds he's making are unholy. He's arching his back and trying to thrust into Gerard's hand while simultaneously meeting Gerard's thrusts and Gerard when presses his thumb to the underside of Frank's cock, Frank is about to lose it. "Gerard," he says between gasps. "I think – I'm gonna…I'm about to—"

"Me too," Gerard sounds as if he's just run a marathon and will die of exhaustion. But that just makes him fuck Frank harder, and squeeze his cock tighter, and suck on his neck like he's a fucking vampire. "You gonna come for me, Frankie? If I fuck you harder will you come for me? Will you scream for me, Frankie? Will you scream my name when I come inside you? When I mark you as _mine_?"

And that about does it for Frank. He gasps louder than he ever has, goes completely still, and grips Gerard's shoulders so hard it's going to leave bruises. He releases all over Gerard's hand, and his muscles spasm, which—in turn—is all that Gerard can take. He fucks Frank through his entire orgasm and then collapses on top of him. He rolls off and pulls out, and they're both breathing hard, and a million thoughts are running through their heads. There is, however, one thought they're both having at the same time, and when they look at each other and see flushed faces and crazy sex hair and eyes that are so full of life they could revive a whole cemetery, they both know…

"I'm glad you're my first," Frank says, reaching down and entwining their fingers. Gerard looks a little hurt—is Frank implying that there will be others?—and Frank smiles at him. "I'm even happier that you're my only." They both stare at each other and completely enjoy how amazing their lives are at that moment. Frank cuddles up next to Gerard, pulling his comforter up around them, and places a kiss on Gerard's collar bone. Gerard shivers and kisses the top of Frank's head, smoothing his hair down lovingly.

"That was amazing," Gerard whispers. "_You _are amazing."

"And _you_, my love," Frank says with a smile. "Have a very dirty mouth."

"God I love you so fucking much," Gerard laughs breathlessly.

"God loves you too, Gee," Frank giggles. "But not as much as I do."


	17. The End

Battle of the Bands – The End.

Depending on how you look at it, two years is a really long time, but it can go by quickly when you're swept up in your emotions and struggles. It may have been around 730.5 days, but it feels like only yesterday Gerard and Frank were in Gerard's bedroom, letting their bodies confess the purest and deepest love there is. Things have gone beautifully between them, and a few times here and there they had petty arguments that were quickly abandoned when Ray told them how stupid they were being.

Since that time, Mikey has gone to rehabilitation almost every day and he's nearly a fully functioning human being again. Frank is cancer-free, but he won't be out of the woods for another five years. To celebrate the success of their relationship _and _the success of Frank's health, both Gerard and Frank decided it would be a cool idea to get a tattoo of a pumpkin, and the date they met put near the bottom. However, Frank had to take on the burden of getting the tattoo for them both since Gerard locked himself in the bathroom at the thought of needles…

Gerard and Ray started to hang out more and they both realized how much they loved music and how desperately they wanted to pursue that career. They started a band and asked Frank and Mikey to join, and when they both accepted, Mikey came up with the band name.

My Chemical Romance.

They thought it was fitting, and so far they've had a fucking awesome time. They only needed a drummer! So they held auditions and they saw a lot of amazing drummers, and a lot of shitty drummers, but then someone walked in that Gerard thought he recognized.

"Hey," the guy introduces himself. "I'm Bob."

"Nice to meet you Bob," Gerard beams. The only reason they've been having a hard time is because they never found someone who _looked _like they belonged in the band. If Bob could impress Gerard, then he was a shoo-in. "I'm Gerard, and I only have one question for you."

"And that is…?" Bob raised one eyebrow apathetically. _Oh yeah_, Gerard thinks to himself, _This guy belongs with us._ And across the room, Mikey is thinking, _This dude is my soul mate_. (Which they all totally saw that coming.)

"What's the weirdest dream you've ever had?" Bob doesn't look shocked—he doesn't seem like the kind of person to let himself be shocked or surprised—and just shrugs his shoulders.

"I don't dream," he says. "I only do."


End file.
